




m 







J}r>sfo/i. T'ltbh.fhff/^ /^u {^roc7^tir kJBr'eic'sier. 



MEMOIRS 



OF THE LATE 



MRS. SUSAN , HUNTINGTON, 



OF 



BOSTON, Mass, 



CONSISTING PRINCIPALLY OF 



EXTRACTS FROM HER JOURNAL AND LETTER.^ 



■> 



WITH THE 



SERxMON OCCASIONED BY HER DEATH. 



By benjamin B. WISNER, 

PASTOR OF THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH IN BOSTON. 



SECOND EDZTZOK. 




BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED BY CROCKER & BREWSTER; 

Ko. 47, WashiBgton Street, late 50^ Cornhill. 



.Hg7A3 



DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, to -zviu 
District Clerk^s Office. 
BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the ninth day of March, A. D. 1826, in thtfiftieth 
year of the Independence of the United States of America, Crocker c^ Brewster^ of 
the said District, have deposited in this office the title of a book, the right whereof 
they claim as Proprietors, in the words following, to ivit: 

*• Memoirs of the late Mrs. Susan Huntington, of Boston, Mass., consisting princi- 
pally of Extracts from her Journal and Letters; Avith the Sermon occasioned by her 
death. By Benjamin B. Wisner, Pastor of the Old South Church in Boston."" 

In Conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, intitled, *An 
act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies, of maps, charts and 
books, to the authoi-s and proprietors ot such copies, during the times therein men- 
tioned;" and also to an act, intitled, "An act supplementary to an act, intitled, An 
act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts and 
books, to the authws and proprietors of such copies during the times therein men- 
tioned; and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving and 
fetching historical, and other prints." 

JNO. W. DAVIS, 
Clerk oj the District of Massachusetts, 



■A% 






/ 



7^ 



A FEW days after the delivery of the sermon which makes a part of 
this volume; a much esteemed member of the church under the pas- 
toral care of the compiler, addressed to him a note which contained 
the following sentences; ^'Conversing with some friends upon the sub- 
ject of your discourse, delivered the last Sabbath, upon the death of 
our lamented Mrs. Huntington, it was concluded to consult you upon 
Ve expediency of giving to the public some of the productions of her 
,en, which are said to be valuable; connecting with them your sermon. 
flow does the plan strike you? If favorably, will you undertake the 
selection, and the preparation of the volume?" The following work 
owes its origin to this communication. It is, with diffidence, com- 
mitted to the consideration of friendship, the candour of the public, and 
the blessing of Almighty God. If it shall be the means of recom- 
mending the religion of the Gospel to any individual, or of promoting 
the consolation and growth in grace of a single follower of Christ; the 
labour bestowed upon it will not have been in vain, 

Boston, May, 1826. 



m^mc^ii 



Mrs. Susan Huntington was a daughter of the Rev. 
Achilles Mansfield, of Killingworth, in the State 
of Connecticut. In this place her father was ordained 
to the ministry of the Gospel in the year 1779, and 
continued the Pastor of the First Church, until death 
closed his labors in 1814. This gentleman was a 
native of A^ew-Haven, a graduate of Yale College, 
and a respectable, useful, and much esteemed minis- 
ter of Christ; and, for many years previous to his 
death, was a member of the Corporation of the 
College at which he had received his education. On 
the maternal side, Mrs. Huntington was descended 
from that pious man, so illustrious in the anneJs of 
the New-England churches, the Rev. John Elliot 
of Roxbury, Mass., vvho will bear, to future ages, 
the honorable title of '^the Indian Apostle." Mrs. 
Mansfield was a daughter of Joseph Elliot of 
Killingworth, whose father Jared Elliot, D. D.. 
minister of Kiliingworth, was a son of the Rev. 
Joseph Elliot of Guaford, Conn, and grandson of 
the venerable John Elliot of Roxbury. 

vSusAN Mansfield was the youngest of three 
children. She w^as born January 27, 17SU. Her 
childhood was marked by sensibility, sobriety, and 



6 MEMOIRS OF 

tenderness of conscience, and a taste for reading. 
Her education was chiefly, under the paternal roof, 
and at the common schools in her native town. 
The only instruction she received from any other 
source, was at a classical school kept in Killingworth, 
during two seasons. Her parents, however, devoted 
much of their time and attention to her instruction. 
And, as her constitution was delicate from infancyj 
she was suffered to gratify her inclination, in de- 
voting most of her time to the cultivation of her 
mind, by reading and efforts at composition. 

In reference to the formation of her religious 
character, a friend of her youth remarks in a letter 
to the compiler, "Blessed as she was with a tender- 
ness of conscience, very unusual, from her earliest 
years, which was exhibited in all her intercourse, at 
home and abroad, and with the faithful instructions 
of her parents, who we^^ living examples of what 
Christians ought to be, and were constantly en- 
deavoring to instil into the minds of their children 
sentiments of piety, of the deepest reverence to- 
wards God, of love to the Saviour, and of uni- 
versal benevolence and good-will towards men, — it 
is difficult to fix on any precise time when her 
serious impressions commenced. She appeared 
to have been, in a measure, sanctified from her 
birth, and, from the first dawn of reason, to need 
only to be informed what her duty was, to perform 
it." There is evidence, however, that, for a time 
at least after she was capable of understanding her 
duty and her obligations to God, her heart was not 
devoted to him. In a letter to her son dated Jan. 
13, 1823, she speaks of having a distinct remem- 
brance of a solemn consultation in her mind, when 
she was about three years old, whether it was best 
to be a Christian then, or not, and of having come 
to the decision that it was not. But the God to 
whom she had been dedicated, and whose blessing 
her parents had so often and fervently supplicated in 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 7 

her behalf, did not suffer her long to rest m this 
sinful determination. When about five years of 
age, she was brought by the Holy Spirit to consider 
the duty and consequences of becoming a Christian 
indeed more seriously, and, in the opinion of her 
parents, and of other pious acquaintances, to choose 
God for her portion. Of the correctness of this 
conclusion of her parents and friends she always 
entertained doubts, and regarded a season of deeper, 
and, in her view, more scriptural, religious impres- 
sion, w^hen about ten years of age, as the commence- 
ment of holiness in her heart. She made a public 
profession of her faith in Christ, and joined the church 
of which her father was pastor, on the i9th of April. 
1807; having just entered her seventeenth year. 

About this time she commenced a private Journal, 
which w^as continued till her marriage, but which 
she destroyed a short time before her death. Of 
her other wTitings during the period just mentioned, 
which were numerous, there remain only some letters, 
and a few pieces of poetry. The following are 
extracts from the letters of this early date which the 
compiler has been able to obtain. 



TO A FBIEND AT N. K. 

KiUingicortli, March 3; 1808. 

We are all insensible to the innumerable blessings 
which continually surround us; and unconscious, or 
regardless, of the benevolence of the Almighty 
Donor. Yet, notwithsta,nding the hardness of my 
heart, I think I can join with you sincereb,^, in 
blessing the God of m.ercies for his goodness to his 
dependant child. You have tasted of the cup of 
affliction. Yet, remember, my dear E., it is the 
Lord w^ho gives it; and should it excite a murmur? 
We receive good, and shall we not receive evil also, 
at his hand: Chastisement is disaorceable to our frail 



8 ' HEMOIHS OF 

and fallen nature; but it is always intended, and k 
often made to work for our good. And let me ask 
you, — and permit me to be serious, — does not this 
restoration to health loudly speak the benevolence of 
God? Does it not lay you under increased obligation 
to devote your life to his service? Believe me, you 
cannot resolve upon a happier life than the life of a 
Christian. This is the end for which we were cre- 
ated; consequently, this alone can make us happy. 
Are not all the pursuits which engage our attention, 
except religion and those which are consistent with 
it, vanity? Do we not follow a phantom, w^hich shines 
but to deceive, which blazes but to insnare us? We 
are all in pursuit of happiness: 'Hvho will show us any 
good?" is the universal question. And how can it 
be better answered, than by pointing to that religion 
which heals every wound? than by directing the in- 
quirer to the balm in Gilead and the great Physician 
there? Real happiness cannot exist in an unrenewed 
heart. We have lost our felicity, by renouncing the 
God who is the glorious fountain of everlasting con- 
solation. Yet he has said, "Return unto me, and I 
will return unto you." Self-deceived mortals! how 
can we slight the words of love which flow from the 
Judge of all the earth towards his offending, guilty 
creatures? Christianity alone can make us happy. 
The cold apathy and insensibility, or suppression of 
feeling which was inculcated by some of the ancient 
philosophers, might dignify a heathen. Bui their 
erroneous system of theology w^as not capa^ble of 
affording to its disciples that holy peace and heavenly 
pleasure, which are the blessed effect of real con- 
version to the religion of Jesus. His voice alone, 
at w^hose command the tempest ceased, can speak 
peace to the troubled spirit, "Thou hast destroyed 
thyself; but in me is thy help." "Return ye back- 
sliding children, and I will heal your backslidings."' 
"Ho every one that thirsteth, come ye to the 
waters; and he that hath no money, come ye, buy 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. V 

and eat; yea, come buy wine and milk, without 
money and without price!" Blessed be our God that 
he has not left us without hope! 

My dear E., it is my belief that it is our duty, if we 
ai*e disciples of Christ, to confess him before men. 
And surely, it is a small, a very small, thing to live 
to Him who died for us. How can we, in the least, 
discharge the debt of gratitude we owe him? We 
can never discharge it. But we must stand upon 
the Lord's side, if w^e are willing to be his, and thus 
prove that we are not ashamed of Christ. Ashamed 
of Christ! preposterous idea. No: a Christian may 
blush at himself, but he can never be ashamed of 
the name of his Lordo Surely, duty, interest, all, 
call upon us to take refuge under the wing of the 
Almighty. My dear friend, this is a subject of great 
importance. "Choose you this day, whom ye will 
serve," is the momentous proposition continually 
addressed to us all by our Maker and Redeemer, 
And think, Oh think, of the infinite, the blessed 
consequences of the happy resolve — ''as for me, I 
will serve the Lord!" 

TO ANOTHER FRIEND AT N. H. 

Killingworth, March 4, 18GS. 

I have read the sweet little poem,^ whose ad- 
mirable author you so much admire, and am happy 
that we are alike pleased with it. Some of his de- 
scriptions are inimitably charming and picturesque, 
and some of his observations concerning the ways 
of providence very just, especially w^hen he says 

One part; one little part, we dimly scan, &c. 

in which he is condemning us for doubting the wis« 
dom and goodness of providence. My ideas cor- 

^ Beattie's 3IinstreL 



10 MEMOIRS OF 

respond with his on this interesting subject, for I 
firmly believe that 

Oft from apparent ill, our blessings rise. 

All things, we are assured, work together for good 
to them that love God. And, as we are ignorant of 
the manner in which our heavenly Father is pleased 
to overrule events for our happiness, it is extremely 
reprehensible in us to be dissatisfied with any of his 
appointments. The prayer of the true Christian is, 
*Make me happy with prosperity: but, above all, 
give me conformity to, and contentment with, thy 
will.' 

I have been reading Cowper also, and love his 
sentiments, his expressions, and his works, entire, ^ 
dearly. Perhaps you will think I speak with the 
rapture of an enthusiast, rather than with the rea- 
sonable animation of a reasonable creature. But 
how can one fail to be delighted with the mild, del- 
icate, and pious sentiments which continually flow 
from the amiable author of The Task? In all his 
expressions he is "simple, grave, sincere^" his style, 
alike removed from the turgid and the weak, and 
pecuharly free from that affectation which was his 
^'perfect scorn." 

I cannot sufficiently express the value I place upon 
this excellent work. Some of his "Winter evening" 
descriptions fill me with pleasure. I, in fancy, visit 
the lonely spot he describes, and wander with him 
over each heath and plain. I love the man for his 
meek and benevolent spirit. His writings are en- 
tirely free from that acrimony (which distinguishes 
some of the English poets) of satire against any class 
whom he disliked. 

The intelligence that the Lord is visiting you with 
the showers of his grace, and causing the Sun of 
righteousness to shine on N. H., and the neighboring 
towns, affords me unspeakable pleasure. If I know 
my own heart, I ardently long for the tmiversal piQ- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 11 

mulgation and reception of that religion which alone 
can make men happy. And, blessed be the God of 
mercies! he will not leave his work unfinished. I 
rejoice that so many are hopefully turned from dark- 
ness to light. May this happy state of things long 
continue, and your light shine more and more, unto 
the perfect day. 



TO A FRIEND AT N. Y. 

Killingioorth, June 3, 180©. 

Your observations respecting our inability to at- 
tain resignation of ourselves, so as to say unreserv- 
edly to our heavenly Father, ^Thy will be done,' are 
undoubtedly just. But let us not forget the nature 
of this inability. It is not such as furnishes any ex- 
cuse or extenuation of our sins when we are not 
resigned; but is the very thing that constitutes our 
guilt, proceeding from the opposition of our hearts 
to the character and government of God. It should 
therefore produce in us deep humiliation and con- 
trition, and drive us to the foot of the cross. The 
want of this resignation, this perfect acquiescence 
in the will of God, is one of the principal sources of 
the unhappiness of which we constantly complain. 
Could we acquiesce with cheerfulness in the dispen- 
sations of an unerring providence, we should at once 
feel a spark of celestial happiness enkindled in our 
hearts. But this is a state of which frail humanity 
comes far short, at the best. We wish to have 
this or that desire complied with; and think that, 
could we but obtain the accomplishment of our 
wishes, we should be blessed indeed. But it is best 
they should not be granted; the v/isdom and good- 
ness of God assure us it is so. And yet, because 
they are denied, we sink into despondency and 
grief. My dear friend, I believe that if we could 
view things as they really are,. we should find reason 



2 MEMOIRS OF 



to say. The Lord hath done all things well; mercy 
and peace go before him continually. Afflictions are 
sent for our profit; and if we do not profit by them, 
the fault is entirely our own. They are designed to 
convince us of the unsatisfying and fleeting nature 
of all things beneath the sun. We should not there- 
fore, when they are upon us, indulge the sorrow of 
the world which worketh death; but pray that they 
may be made to work in us the peaceable fruit of 
righteousness, and, in the future world, a far more 
exceeding and eternal weight of glory. While we 
are "pilgrims and strangers" in this valley of tears, 
we must constantly meet with sorrows and troubles, 
which nothing but religion can enable us to sustain. 
This then, religion, is the hidden treasure, the pearl 
of great price, to obtain which we should sell all 
that we have. This it is that affords happiness in 
life; this it is that smooths and softens the pillow of 
death; this it is that leads its disciples to a heaven of 
unclouded day. My dear N., do we possess this 
treasure? Important question! involving joys and 
sorrows inconceivable and eternal! If we do not, 
let us, without delay, draw near to the throne of 
grace that we may obtain mercy. There is a glori- 
ous Mediator between God and man. And He 
whom w^e have offended says to us, "Ask, and ye 
shall receive; seek, and ye shall find." 

TO MISS L., OF N. Y. 

Killingworth, July 23; 1808. 

Your letter, my ever dear M., has just been hand- 
ed me, and has afforded me great pleasure. It con- 
vinced me that I was not forgotten by one whom I 
tenderly love; and, at the same time that it assured 
me of your friendship, conveyed to my heart a degree 
of consolation which I greatly needed, and which 
the divine truths it contained are so well calculated 
to inspire. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. lo 

We are subject to a thousand weaknesses, the 
natural attendants of frail humanity: it is not strange, 
therefore, that we should sometimes feel oppressed 
with doubts and fears. Indeed a certain religious 
author says, "The soul that never doubted, hath 
never yet believed: for while flesh remains in the 
believer, it is unbelieving flesh; and it is the office 
of faith to subdue this unbelief in all its activities." 
There are, it appears to me, two kinds of doubt 
respecting our spiritual state, to which we are sub- 
ject. Oiie is a distrust of God's omnipotence, mercy, 
willingness to save, &c., something like that which, 
we should suppose the Apostles felt, when they 
exclaimed, with astonishment, "Who then can be 
saved?" The other proceeds from a consciousness 
of weakness, sin, want of faith, &c., in ourselves. 
I do not think that my doubts are occasioned by 
any distrust of the blessed God! Oh! no, God 
takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked; else 
why did he give his Son to be a ransom for sinners? 
why does he run to meet the returning prodis:al, 
vv hile yet a great way ofl? why does he continue to 
hold out to u=s the sceptre of his mercy, when we 
are practically saying to him, We desire not the 
knowledge of thy v/oys: That God is love, is evinced 
by every thing around us, as well as by the declar- 
ations of his word. He is able and willing to save, 
to the uttermost, all, who come unto him with faith 
in the merits of his Son. The difiiculty seems to 
be entirely in myself. I am so cold and lifeless, so 
faithless and unbelieving, that it seems to be almost 
impossible that I should be allied to any thing good. 
Do not infer from this last remark that I am very 
humble. I ought to be humbled in the very dust; 
but I am far less abased before God than I feel that 
I should be. How far am I from that fervour of 
spirit in serving the Lord, and that deadness to the 
world, that watchfulness and zeal, which I ought 
to have, and which I long to possess! My dear M.. 



14 



MEMOIRS OF 



it is a great thing to be a Christian at any time, es- 
pecially in these last days, when iniquity abounds, 
and the love of many waxes cold; when "the de- 
clensions of Christianity" may be produced as "a 
sad argument of its truth." But it is God that 
worketh in us to will and to do of his good pleasure; 
and to him the work is as easy now as at any other 
period. Were the whole world around us faithful 
disciples of Christ, there would still be a law in our 
members, over which God alone could give us the 
victory, through Jesus Christ our Lord. In such 
circumstances, however, there would be fewer temp- 
tations, and it would be easier to maintain a close 
walk with God. Nothing short of omnipotence can, 
indeed, cause light to shine out of darkness. But 
the greatness of the work should not cause our 
hearts to sink in despondency. No w^ork is too 
great for God to perform; and he has promised to 
help those who trust in him, and to give them all that 
they ask agreeably to his will. Despondency must 
then arise from want of faith. This it was in Peter, 
which impelled him to exclaim, "Lord, save me, 
I perish!" He did not fully trust in the power of 
his divine Master, but yielded to fear, excited by the 
rough appearance of the v/aves on which he stood; 
forgetting that He, whom the winds and the sea 
obey, was at his side. This it is in us — the want 
of faith, that leads us to doubt whether we can ever 
be saved. The Lord increase our faith and give 
us unwavering confidence in his faithfulness and 
mercy. 



TO THE SA3IE, 

Killingicorth, Sept. 21, ISOS. 

In writing to you, my dear M., I shall, with a 
cojifidence which our friendship justifies, throw 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. lo 

luvay all unnecessary reserve, and use the freedom 
of a friend and sister. In communicating every in- 
cident which is interesting to me, and seeking in 
you, v>-hen I am in trouble, that sympathy and con- 
solation which I hope to find in one vrliose mind is 
so congenial with my own, I shall enjoy your soci- 
ety, though I am separated from you. And in such 
correspondence — which it is my wish may be main- 
tained between us v> hile life shall last — we shall = aid 
much pleasure, and, I hope, some profit. When i 
go to Boston, I do not expect to have any regular 
correspondent but you; as other necessary and una- 
voidable engagements will, probably, prevent my 
retaining more than one. I shall therefore wish you 
to write me frequently, that we may not cease to 
think of and love each other. 

I do not question the correctness of Mr. S.'s ex- 
planation of Christian humility, nor of the remarks 
he connected with it respecting doubts, <tc. But do 
you think that continual doubts in a regenerate per- 
son, are as conducive to God's glory as a stronger 
faith would be? I knovv^ that, as long as sin remains, 
there will probably be seasons of comparative dark- 
ness; and therefore, some degree of doubt is consis- 
tent with the Christian character. Yet I believe 
that, could Vv'e ahways have faith to say with the 
apostle, "I know in whom I have believed," we 
should glorify God much more than we do now. 

I received a letter last vveek from Gen. Hunting- 
ton. He informs me of the meiancholy death of his 
daughter-in-law, at N., of vs horn you have heard me 
speak in terms of affection and admiration. She 
was one of the excellent of the earth: an ornament 
to her sex, and to the relio^ion of Christ. Her useful- 
ness here is now at an end. God had prepared her 
for glory, and he has taken her to himself. In the 
midst of life we are in death. Oh! that we, my dear 
M., would learn to consider ourselves as pilgrims 
and strangers on the earth, and to live with a con- 



16 



MEMOIRS OF 



stant reference to eternity; that when the solemn 
hour of death shall come, we may 

look back on every sorrow past^ 
And meet life's peaceful evening v/ith a smile. 



TO MPv. D. OF 



Killing worth, Novemher 22, leas'. 

The friendship which you feel for us all, and 
which w^e all feel for you, rendered any apology, in 
regard to your commencing a correspondence with 
me needless. I hope ever to consider you as one of 
my friends; and, as such, your letter could excite no 
other sensations than those of pleasure. 

The silence which you preserved Vv^hile here, upon 
the subject of our beloved Eliza's deathj""' I did not 
impute, either to indifference, or insensibility. You 
knew her too welh to suffer the remembrance of her 
virtues to depart from your mind^ as she departed from 
the theatre of life. And you are not possessed of 
that stoicism of feeling, which would preclude your 
being interested in the afflictions of your friends. I 
rather imputed it to a reluctance to open afresh those 
wounds, in the bosoms of the members of this fam- 
ily, which can never be entirely healed, by recalling 
to our memories the recollection of one of our num- 
ber whom God has taken from us. She VvTiS all that 
wa.3 amiable and lovely; and none can realize our 
loss, but those who knew her as v^^e did. Could I 
not feel that tliere is indeed a God that judgeth in 
the earth, and that though clouds and darkness are 
often round about him, yet righteousness and judg- 
ment are the habitation of his throne, and did I not 
believe that he orders every thing for his own glory 
and the highest good of his intelligent creation, I 
should, at times, be ready to sink under his chastis-^ 

* The person Vv-hose death is here referred tO; was her sister; Mrs, 
Eliza Olcott of Kiilingworth. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 17 



iiig hand. But the persuasion that the Lord reign- 
eth in perfect righteousness, is not nrv only source 
of consolation under this trial; for I have reason to 
hope that my dear sister died in peace, and has en- 
tered into that rest which remaineth for the people 
of God. In this view, death seems disarmed of his 
sting, and I sometimes feel disposed to bless the 
Lord, for having released her from sin, and every 
attending sorrow, and admitted her to the full en- 
joyment of himself. Dear departed Eliza! Thy 
journey was short; but thou hast arrived at the haven 
of felicity, and God has wiped all tears from thine 
eyes. 

" The various inquiries you proposed, need more 
time and wisdom than I possess, fully and properly 
to answer. Those which more unmediately interest 
yourself, excite, in a peculiar degree, my attention. 
I suppose you consider yourself, as to be ranked 
among the sixth class of undecided characters men- 
tioned in your letter, which you have described as 
"beins necessitated to halt betu^een two oDinions. 
from a half persuasion that they are right, while op- 
posed in their plans by the opinions and wishes of 
friends, &c." This is certainly a very unpleasant sit- 
uation, and I am sincerely sorry it is yours: because, 
when we are undecided in our own minds respecting 
any particular pursuit, there is less prospect of use- 
fulness and happiness in life, than there would oth- 
ervase be, on account of our -being, by this means, 
prevented from properly exerting our powers, and 
as it also prevents or clouds that approbation of our 
own hearts, founded on the firm persuasion that we 
are good soldiers in a good cause, which is as an 
anchor to the souL I wish it were in my power to 
give you all that advice you desire from your friends, 
and to direct your mind to the course of duty and of 
happiness. I would direct you to that divine Book 
which contains directions for all, given by One who 
cannot misguide; directions which, if followed, will 
-2 



IS MEMOIRS OF 

conduct to usefulness and happiness, both here and 
hereafter. Seek from the fountain of grace, wisdom 
profitable to direct, and grace to help; and be as- 
sured, you will not seek in vain. 

You say, it has, a long time, been your desire to 
preach the gospel, and that though, at times, a sense 
of your unworthiness leads you almost to relinquish 
this your darling object, yet you feel that by relin- 
quishing it, you v/ould give up also all your hopes of 
earthly happiness. If this is the case; if you also 
feel this pursuit your duty, if you indeed desire to 
know nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified, 
and if you ardently long to glorify God and benefit 
the souls of men, I certainly think you ought to 
enter the ministry. Your distrust of yourself is no 
ground for discouragement. On the contrary, if you 
did not feel your weakness and unworthiness, you 
vrould have reason to doubt whether you had ever 
seen your true character, as delineated in the Scrip- 
tures of truth. Grace operates by subduing the 
pride of man. Renounce all dependence on your- 
self. Be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his 
might: and you need not fear. 

With regard to the subject of Episcopacy, which 
seems to engross so much of your attention, I think 
myself qualified to say but little. I have never en- 
tered into the spirit of the controversy, and have but 
little information on the subject. I would refer you 
to Dr. Mason,^ Dr. Miller,f and others, who havo 
%vritten, so far as I am informed, aWy and scrip tur- 
ally, upon the topics in debate between the Presby- 
teriansj and Episcopalians. 

You tliink you can do more good as an Episcopal 
minister. Why.^ You must give some reason for 

^ Articles; in tlie Christian's Magazine, on Episcopacy. 

\ Letters concerning the Constitution and Order of the Christian 

t In Connecticut^, the Cpngre^tionalists are usually called Presby- 
terians. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 19 

supposing SO, or you may fall under the appellation 
"romantic," according to Foster. What leads you 
to think you can do more good in the Episcopal 
church? Is it that Episcopal ministers are generally 
more successful in winning souls to Christ, than 
Presbyterian ministers? Or do you think that, if 
you enter that church, you will exceed other minis- 
ters, in both churches, so far as to be peculiarly 
blessed? Indeed, my friend, I would not damp your 
zeal, or cloud your prospects of usefulness. I hope 
you may be blessed of God, and turn many to right- 
eousness. But I believe, judging from facts and the 
promises of Scripture to all faithful heralds of the 
cross, that you may be as useful a minister in the 
Presbj^terian as in the Episcopal church. 

Are the doctrines which Episcopalians, in this 
region, usually embrace, more scriptural than those 
held by the Presbyterians? 

That baptism is not regeneration, appears to me 
so plain, from the scriptures and the best observation 
of the world around us, as to need no other demon- 
stration. If it be, I do not see that any can be 
saved, but those who have been baptized; for our 
Saviour expKcitly affirms that ^^except anion be bora 
again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." And 
can you adopt a sentiment which leads to such a 
conclusion? 

You seem, however, rather to suppose that regen- 
eration may be regarded, as always accompanyino- 
l^aptism, when the subject is presented in the propei^ 
spirit. If parents give up their children in this ordi- 
nance in foith, you appear to think, they may be, uni- 
formly, regenerated. But who had worse' children 
than Eli and David? And yet they were both holy 
ipen, and no doubt gave up their children to God in 
faith in the ordinance of circumcision. And do we 
not sometimes see the best parents, who, v.^e cannot 
doubt, have, in faith, dedicated their offspring to God^ 
«nd by both precept and example, taught Siem the 



20 MEMOIRS OF 

way of righteousness, afflicted with children who are 
utter strangers to the power of divine grace? If this 
be the case, we must either condemn such parents as 
hypocrites, or conclude that the opinion in question 
is erroneous. With regard to that expression of our 
Lord in his conversation with Nicodemus, "Except 
a m^an be born of water and the spirit, &c." it is, I 
think, evident, for the reasons just stated, that the 
phrase "born of water" does not mean baptism. Mr. 
Henry, author of the Commentary, thinks that water 
is used in this place figuratively, to express the 
cleansing or purifying effect of the saving influences 
of the Spirit. "The washing of regeneration" and 
"baptized vvith the Holy Ghost and with fire," are, 
in his opinion, phrases synonymous with this. But 
I have heard it objected, ^In saying that baptism is 
not regeneration, you depreciate its worth, and ren- 
der it of little or no use.' By no means. It's not 
being a converting ordinance, is no reason vv^hy we 
should consider it useless and of no efficacy. Con- 
version is not immediately and inseparably connected 
witli reading the Scriptures, and attending public 
worship: but they are not, on that account, to be re- 
garded as of no use. They are means of grace, and 
those who do not use them wilL most probably, never 
be converted. Baptism initiates the subject into the 
visible Church of Christ, and implies the most solemn ^ 
engagements, on the part of the parents, to train up 
their child in the Vv^ay he should go; and, if they faith- 
fully fulfil their engagements, there is reason to hope, 
that when he is old he will not depart from it. If 
baptism is regeneration, Christ's exhortation "Strive 
to enter in at the strait gate, &c." vv^as unnecessary, 
for the road to life is so broad and easy of access that 
few can miss it. 

That the faith which was not followed by good 
works, is of no avail, I readily allow: or, to speak 
more properly, if good works do not appear, there is 
no faith at all. the soul is unre2:enerate, Neverthe- 



3IRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 21 

less, neither our faith, nor our good works, constitute, 
or make a part of, the ground or meritorious cause of 
our acceptance with God. It is certain that we can- 
not be saved without faith, for the Scriptures saith, 
"He that beUeveth on the Son hath everlasting life; 
and he that believeth not the Son, shall not see life, 
but the wrath of God abideth on him.'' Yet it is not 
our faith, as a virtue in us, which procures for us the 
complacent regard of Jehovah; but the merits of 
Christ, in which we become interested by faith. "Be- 
ing," says the apostle, "jusiified/reeiy — without any 
merit on our part, "by his grace, through the rederap- 
tion that is in Christ Jesus J^ And the reason of this is 
obvious. Our faith can have no merit in it, because it 
is the gift of God. "By grace are ye saved, through 
faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of 
God." 

The subject of the decrees of God, is one upon 
which I have never thought it profitable for me to 
speculate. "Secret thirigs belong unto the Lord our 
God; the things which are revealed belong unto us." 
I have reason to blush that my mind is so enveloped 
in the shades of ignorance and unbelief, in regard to 
this and every other doctrine of the Bible. That 
"God did. out of his mere good pleasure, from all 
eternity, elect some to everlasting life," I firmly be- 
lieve, because it appears to me to be plainly taught in 
the Scriptures. But that this election destroys, or at 
all interferes with, the free-agency of man, I do not 
believe. It is my opinion that salvation by Jesus 
Christ should be preached indiscriminately to all, 
that all have the sincere offers of mercy, and there- 
fore, that those who come short of salvation, must 
take all the blame of their destruction to themselves, 
while those who are saved, must ascribe it wholly to 
the riches of sovereign grace. And is there any incon- 
sistency in this.'^ Because "God hath foreordained 
whatsoever comes to pass." are we to conclude that 
all efforts on our part to repent and believe are un- 



22 



MEMOIRS OF 



necessary; and that we are excusable in neglecting 
the means of grace? The Scriptures assure us. and 
we believe, that there is ''an appointed time for man 
upon the earth," that "his days are determined, and 
the number of his months are with God," and that 
"he hath appointed his bounds that he cannot pass." 
But this does not prevent us, when we are sick, from 
using proper medicines for the recovery of health. 
We do not say, '^I will do nothing; if I am to die, I 
shall die, at any rate; if not, I shall live, though I use 
no means for the preservation of hfe.' This, all ad- 
mit, would be an absurd way of reasoning. But is it 
not equally absurd, to reason in the same manner 
with regard to our eternal concerns? 

I believe we are naturally in a state of enmity to 
God, entirely depraved, "dead in trespasses and sins." 
Yet I do not believe that we are in such a sense un- 
able to repent, believe in Christ, and love God, that 
we are in the least degree, excusable for disobeying 
the divine commands which require us to do these 
things. The best Calvinistic writers, such as Presi- 
dent Edwards, Andrew Fuller, &c. make a distinc- 
tion between, what they call natural and moral ina- 
bility to obey the commands of God. "If it were not 
the duty of unconverted sinners to believe in Christ, 
and that because of their inability; this inability 
must be natural or something which does not arise 
from an evil disposition: but all the inability ascribed 
to man, with respect to believing, arises from the 
aversion of his heart." Consequently, it is the duty 
of the sinner to believe in Christ; and it is altogether 
owing to his disinclination that he does not, as is 
evident from many passages of Scripture, such as 
"Ye will not come to me that ye might have life," 
"We desire not the knovvdedge of thy ways," "Men 
love darkness rather than light." "Surely," says Mr. 
Fuller, "the plainest and weakest Christian, in read- 
ing his Bible, if he pay any regard to what he reads, 
must perceive a manifest difference between the 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 23 

blindness of Bartimeus, who was ardently desirous 
that he might receive his sight, and that of the un- 
believing Jews, who closed their eyes, lest they 
should see, and be converted, and healed; and be- 
tween the want of the natural sense of hearing, and 
the state of those who have ears, but hear not." 

The doctrine of the perseverance of the saints I 
also believe, because I think it is plainly taught in 
the Bible. That many profess religion who never 
felt it, that many deceive themselves and others by a 
false show, and that many go considerable lengths 
in the external practice of the precepts, and acquire 
a considerable speculative knowledge and belief of 
the doctrines of the Gospel, and that these frequently 
fall away from' all which they ever did profess and 
believe, I have no doubt. And if the perseverance 
of true believers depended upon themselves, none 
would persevere. But it does not depend upon 
themselves. "In the Lord have they righteousness 
and strength." They build upon that "sure founda- 
tion-stone which can never be moved." They trust 
in Him who says to his people, "I will never leave 
nor forsake you." And, saith the apostle, "God is 
true. All the promises of God in Christ Jesus are 
yea and amen." In another place he says, "I am 
persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, 
nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, 
nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any 
other creature, shall be able to separate us from the 
love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." And 
what were his reasons for this persuasion? Did it 
proceed from confidence in himself? No, "We are 
more .than conquerors," says he, "through Him that 
loved us." To "the saints in Christ Jesus which were 
at Philippi," he says, I am "confident of this very 
thing, that He which hath begun a good work in 
you, will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ." 
And the Saviour says that his "sheep" — those that 
"hear his voice," "shall never perish," and that he 



24 MEMOIRS OF 

will "give unto them eternal life." To believe that 
any who have been truly regenerated, will totally 
fall away and perish, would, therefore, in my view, 
be to impeach the faithfulness of God. 

Some have thought that the belief of this doctrine 
is calculated to make us remiss in the performance 
of duty, that it tends to make us relax our exertions 
to live near to God, and to glorify him by a life of 
devotedness to his service. The speculative belief 
of it may, indeed, produce this effect upon the 
formalist and the hypocrite; but the belief of it with 
the heart, will have no such influence upon the real 
Christian. And the reason is this; the former per- 
forms all his duties, solely because he feels that he 
must perform them to get to heaven, while the lat- 
ter endeavours to be faithful, chiefly because he loves 
the service of God for its own sake. 'The former 
is entirely actuated by selfish principles; the latter, 
though he values the welfare of his soul, is princi- 
pally actuated by a regard to the glory of God. The 
consequence is, that the former, vv^hen he thinks he 
is safe, omits or slightly performs duties, which he 
never loved, because he has no further use for them, 
as his own end is, he thinks, accomplished; whereas 
the latter performs them still, though he has attained 
the assurance of hope, not as a duty only, but as a 
pleasure. His confidence of being personally inter- 
ested in that covenant which is ordered in all things 
and sure, makes him, if possible, more desirous, 
than he was before he attained to such a measure of 
grace, to glorify, by a well ordered life and conver- 
sation, that God, the breadth and length and depth 
and height of whose love for his soul, he finds, pass 
his knowledge. The saints in heaven know assur- 
edly that they shall never fall from grace; but this 
does not damp the ardor of their love and zeal. 
This very knowledge increases the rapture, with 
which they give glory to Him who redeemed them 
unto God by his blood, out of every kindred and 
tongue and people and nation. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 25 

Were I not writing to a friend, and had you not 
requested my opinion upon the several subjects 
mentioned in your letter, I should consider some 
apology necessary for the character and length of 
this reply. In the present case, however, it is 
unnecessary. 

TO A FRIEND AT N. H. 

Killingworth, December 20. 180S. 

I have been reading Foster's Essays. I admire 
them greatly. You recollect, I presume, what he 
says respecting romantic friendship. I fear his re- 
marks are too true. He is certainly a man of great 
discernment, and has an extensive knowledge of 
human nature. I was surprised to observe vvith what 
facility he makes the minutest events in nature sub- 
servient to the design of his Avork; and how, even 
those circumstances or occurrences of life which w^e 
should judge of no importance, are, by him, recorded 
with an accuracy of recollection which v/e admire, 
and an energy of expression vrhich makes them more 
fully illustrate his ideas than, perhaps, any thing else 
could have done. The essay on Decision of ChaVac- 
ter is an admirably well executed piece; and, were 
the world more virtuous, we should rejoice in its 
principles being instilled into every breast. Ardor 
and invincibility in a good cause, would be the source 
of numberless blessings to the world. But when we 
consider the depraved state of the minds and morals 
of men, I think we have reason to bless the benevo- 
lent Parent of the universe, that he has not endowed 
a greater number of individuals with this fixedness of 
determination in any favourite pursuit; as from it, 
when not controlled by virtuous principle, must re- 
sult innumerable and unheard of dangers and dis- 
tresses. Were it probable that, with all this inflex- 
ibility of temper, the influential motives which 
prompted the execution of any design would be goodj 
3 



26. MEMOmS OF 

and that the heart which was the subject of this firm- 
ness and decision, would be capable of that refine- 
ment, humanity, and deference to the opinions of 
others, which characterize beings of a more flexible 
stamp; we might wish every person in possession of 
it; as virtue and the good of all mankind, would be 
the ultimate object to which all its energies would be 
directed. These, however, Foster himself acknowl- 
edges, are rarely united; and he regrets that almost 
all the examples of decision which he mentions, are 
among the cruel and tyrannical part of mankind. 
The reason, you recollect, which he assigns for it is, 
that a man of a decided character will, almost una- 
voidably, become indifferent to the opinions and 
advice of others; or, from a consciousness of possess- 
ing superior talents, consider himself as having an 
almost exclusive right of judging, and therefore, 
condemn all opinions which do not exactly coincide 
with his. Such a man would, I should think, become 
a cynic or misanthrope, a torture to himself, and a 
source of misery to his friends; more especially, if he 
liad not some great object in view, to employ his 
time and attention; or, most of all, if his schemes 
should, in the end, disappoint his expectations. 

TO MISS L., OF N. H. 

Killing worth, Januarij 20, 1809. 

The subject of your letter, my dear friend, is one 
of infinite importance, and certainly claims our first 
and most earnest attention. Could we realize the 
tremendous consequences connected with it, v^e 
should, I think, cease to view it Vv ith so much supine- 
ness and indifference, and give it that careful con- 
sideration which it deserves. When we reflect that, 
upon our possessing real religion, depends our hap- 
piness, both for time and eternity, that the least 
mistake may be productive of evils, the nature and 
extent of which exceed our powers of conception, 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGT0>7. 27 

and that this religion must be diligently sought for, 
Vjefore it can be obtained; we must surely, unless 
our hearts are totally blinded by sin, and harder 
than the nether mill-stone, be excited to exclaim, 
with sincerity and earnestness. What must I do to be 
saved? It is a small thing to profess Christianity, to 
acquire a theoretical knowledge of its doctrines, to 
speak of its nature and excellence, and, in a phari- 
saical manner, to mould our external behaviour to 
its precepts; to do all this is but a small thing; but 
when done, if unaccompanied with that grace of 
God which is like a refiner's fire or the fuller's soap, 
it is but washing the outside of the cup and platter, 
w^hile inwardly we are full of cort'uption. The work 
of sanctification is a great work, which nothing but 
the mighty power of God can accomplish; for who 
but He can bring a clean thing out of an unclean, 
and release the creature, sold under sin, from 
his bondage to Satan, when he is himself oppos- 
ed to his deliverance, and bring him into the glo- 
rious liberty of the sons of God? But great as is the 
w^ork, and diverse as it is from any thing which men or 
devils can eflfect, it is nevertheless one which Satan 
and the corruptions of our own hearts, use all their 
efforts to counterfeit. The adversary, we are told, 
can "transform himself into an angel of light,'' and 
"the heart is deceitful above all things and desper- 
ately wicked." On these two affecting and alarming 
truths, is reared that strong delusion by which so 
many are led blindfold to eternal despair. How 
necessary then is it that we should, frequently and 
carefully, examine ourselves whether we be in the 
faith? My dear M., when looking into this heart of 
mine, and finding so many sinful propensities exist- 
ing and operating within it. I am sometimes led to 
fear, almost to conclude, that I have never yet been 
renewed in the spirit of my mind. ^"- ■ tl e infinite 
consequences depending upon our embracing, from 
the heart, that religion, and being the subjects ol 



^S MEMOIRS OF 

that repentance and faith, without which we shall 
not be saved! I cannot, even to you, fully express 
my feelings on this interesting and all important 
subject; it is too vast and solemn in its nature and 
consequences. I can only say, Search me, O God, 
and know my heart; try me, and know my thoughts; 
and see if there be any wicked way in me; and lead 
me in the way everlasting. I do think however, 
notwithstanding the many reasons I have to enter- 
tain doubts respecting my conversion, that Chris- 
tianity is to me ail in all. Were the religion of Jesus 
torn from me, I should be like the mariner without 
u compass or a bark, in the midst of a tempestuous 
ocean. I should not know whither to direct my 
despairing eyes, for hope in this life, or happiness 
in the life to come. Sometimes I have a hope 
that I am one of Christ's little ones, and feel as if I 
could exclaim with the Psalmist, O, how I love thy 
law. But these preciojis seasons do not last long, 
and I again doubt, whether the joys I then felt, were 
not the fruit of those false affections which the 
legalist and the hypocrite may experience. My 
dear friend, let us pray for each other, that we may 
have faith to lay hold on the promises of Jehovah^ 
that w^e may be enabled to hold on our way in the 
path of life, and finally be made pillars in the tem- 
ple of our God to go no more out for ever. 

TO A FRIEND AT N. Y. 

Killingieorth, Febrimry 19, 1809. 

What, my dear N., would be our sensations did 
we suppose, like many learned infidels, that this 
narrow sphere of being was the whole of our exist- 
ence. Dreadful indeed would be the thought; that 
man was destined only to tread for a few short days 
this speck of creation, and then sink to nought! 
What could ever have induced cultivated and aspir- 
ing minds, to imbibe notions so degrading to our 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 29 

nature as these; notions which make us but a little 
higher than the beasts that perish, and which pre- 
clude all desires and exertions for nobler joys than 
those of time and sense? Futurity is the Christian's 
hope. In the Gospel, life and immortality are 
brought to light. Death shall be swallowed up of 
victory. Then grace shall be perfected, and glory 
consummated. Then shall we know even as vv^e are 
knownpvhatever appeared mysterious and incompre- 
hensible to our finite capacities, shall be elucidated; 
God will be seen to have done all things well, and 
to be just in justifying them that believe. 



H. 

Killi7igu'orth, March 31,1809. 

I received your kind letter, my beloved M., with 
the most cordial pleasure. It is sometime since I 
heard from my good friends at N. H.; and I hope I 
feel sensations of gratitude to Him who is the giver 
of every good and perfect gift, that he has preserved 
you from sickness and death until the present time, 
and that he has not withdrawn the precious influ- 
ences of his Spirit, but is still causing the showers 
of divine grace to descend upon your favoured town. 
May the glorious work be continued, vmtil your 
righteousness shall go forth as brightness, and your 
salvation as a lamp that burneth. 

It is certainly true, my dear friend, that frequently, 
when there is an uncommon attention to religion, 
there is also an uncommon zeal in defending or op- 
posing things unessential. That the Christian world 
is so divided in its opinions, is a circumstance which 
must excite sorrow in the bosom of every member 
of the family of God. But so long as human nature 
is subject to err, and as long as there are different 
doctrines taught by those who undertake to expound 
the Scriptures of truth, this must unavoidably be 
the case. We are not to condemn any, who differ 
3^ 



30 MEMOIRS OF 

from us in some points of faith, but hold to the fun-* 
damental doctrines of Christianity. A proceeding 
so uncharitable, has no sanction in the benevolent 
and perfect rules of the Gospel. That the best men 
are liable to embrace, and have embraced, errors, is 
amply evident from the least acquaintance with ec- 
clesiastical history. This fact, together with the 
numerous exhortations in Scripture to the exercise 
of charity, should lead us to view with candour and 
impartiality the opinions of others, to examine them 
faithfully before we condemn them, and, if we must 
condemn them because we find them to be funda- 
mental errors, to do it in the meekness of the Chris- 
tian temper. Yet, as I have already intimated, while 
we endeavour to avoid unjust and uncharitable cen- 
sure of others for their religious opinions, we must 
be careful not to sacrifice at the shrine of modern 
'liberality" the faith once delivered to the saints; 
we must not sanction, even by our silence, princi- 
ples subversive of the great truths inculcated by 
Christ and his prophets and apostles. There is a 
manifest difference between tliose divisions among 
nominal Christians which relate merely to the ex- 
ternals of religion, or to doctrines which do not 
nearly afiect tlie foundations of the Christian faith, 
and those which are repugnant or contrary to the 
essential doctrines of the Gospel, and which, openly 
or secretly, aim at the basis of the Gospel system. To 
those who differ from us in relation to the former, 
we may and ought to extend our fellowship. But 
errorists of the latter description, should be stren- 
uously opposed, if we would obey the divine injunc- 
tion to contend earnestly for the faith. We are not 
indeed to oppose them with severity and acrimony, 
but with that firmness which arises from a conscious- 
ness of being on the Lord's side; a firmness which, 
while it precludes our being turned about by every 
wind of doctrine, is accompanied with meekness 
and discretion. In the primitive church, some were 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON, 31 

for Paul, others for Apollos, and others for Cephas, 
And yet they may all have been real disciples of 
Christ; for Paul, Apollos, and Cephas all preached 
(though with some unimportant variations, which 
were made the occasion of those divisions,) the same 
method of salvation; they all preached Christ cru- 
cified, the wisdom of God and the power of God 
unto salvation to them which believe; and therefore 
the sincere followers of each were true Christians, 
At the present day also, it is of little consequence 
whether men are Presbyterians, Episcopalians, Me- 
thodists, or Baptists; for, although some one of these 
denominations is doubtless nearer being right than 
the others, a person may embrace the peculiarities of 
either, and yet be a Christian. But it is of the high- 
est importance whether we be Orthodox, Unita- 
rians, Pelagians, or Antinomians, for the distinctive 
principles of these sects immediately affect the foun- 
dations of Christianity, and must, other things being 
equal, have a material influence upon the morals of 
mankind: on the points which separate these classes 
of, what is loosely called, the Christian world, we 
cannot be too solicitous not to err; for an error here 
may be fatal. Such, if I understand you, is the dis- 
tinction which you make. I can therefore yield an 
entire assent to your remark that ''did Christians 
study more to avoid foolish and unprofitable ques- 
tions, and give more of their attention to the essen- 
tials of the Gospel, we should see less of the virulence 
of party spirit and more of the fruits of piety." 

How unhappy it is, my dear friend, that the little 
family of Christ should be so torn with internal ani- 
mosities and feuds; and that, at a tim.e when the state 
of the world seems to render it peculiarly necessary, 
that all its members should be bound together in the 
unity of the Spirit and in the bonds of peace. At no 
period in the history of the church, can we discover 
so many and such powerful efforts of the prince of 
thrs world and his adherents, to. destroy its purity, 



32 MEMOIRS OF 

and its very existence, as at the present time. What 
were the clamours of the ancient Jews, what were 
the distressing persecutions of the idolatrous Gen- 
tiles, and what were the contemptuous opprobriums 
of the infidel philosophers of former days, capable 
of effecting toward the overthrow of Christianity, 
compared with that spirit of Antichrist which has 
now gone forth into the world, — a spirit which, 
while it professes to admire, directs all its energies 
to the destruction of, the religion of Christ? The 
former gave the blow openly, the latter gives the 
deadly stab in secret. The former depressed, but 
did not corrupt the truth: the latter infuses its poi- 
son into the very principles of our faith, and leaves* 
us nothing of Christianity but the form and the 
name. Surely these are "the last times" spoken of 
in the sure word of prophecy, Vvhen many shall be 
given up to strong delusions, and left to believe a lie, 
and when faith shall hardly be found on the earth. 

But, thanks be to God, he is shewing us, by the 
effusions of his Spirit on various places, that he still 
remembers his Church, and will not suffer the gates 
of hell to prevail against it. And blessed be his 
name for the assurance, that none shall be able to 
pluck his real children out of the Saviour's hands, or 
prevent his giving unto them eternal life! Oh! my 
friend, let us pray for each other. And may He, who 
is the believer's hope, finally present us faultless 
before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy! 



On the eighteenth of May, 1809, Miss Mans- 
field was married to the Rev. Joshua Huntington, 
son of Gen. Jedidiah Huntington of New London, 
Conn., and junior pastor of the Old South Church 
in Boston, Mass. 

The letters, of which the following are extracts, 
were written after her removal to Boston. 



3IRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 33 



TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. L, 

Boston, May 30, 1809. 

Our ride was very pleasant, I am delighted with 
the country around Boston, and think the town is 
handsomely situated, and I doubt not I shall be 
pleased with the inhabitants. But, my dear friend, 
flattering as is the prospect before us, I cannot 
contemplate the responsibility of the station in 
which I am placed, its total dissimilarity to that to 
which I have been accustomed, and the arduous 
duties resulting from it, together with my own ina- 
bility to perform them as I ought, without feeling 
a degree of anxiety lest I should be found wholly 
unqualified for the situation. Did I not believe that 
the bounds of our habitations are not accidental, 
but determined by the providence of God, I should 
sink under the weight of responsibility which now 
rests upon me. But I do believe that the Lord has 
placed me here; he it is who calls me to the arduous 
duties in w^hich I am now to engage, and I desire, I 
think I feel in some degree enabled, to trust in him 
for wisdom and strength to guide and sustain me. 

I have as yet seen but few of Mr. H.'s congrega- 
tion. But, if I may form a judgment from those 
who have called, I think I shall find among them 
many who cherish an ardent attachment to the doc- 
trines, and maintain a consistent practice of the duties 
of the Gospel, unmoved by the prevalence of error. 
— many real disciples of the blessed Jesus. I do 
not doubt therefore, but I shall be happy, for it is 
chiefly the society which renders a place agreeable 
pr unpleasant. 

TO ANOTHER SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. L. 

Boston, July 20, 1809. 

You are already acquainted with Boston and some 
of its inhabitants, together with my feelings re** 



34 MEMOIRS OF 

specting them, and have been informed that I am 
pleased and contented in my situation. The town 
is pleasant, the people hospitable and friendly; and, 
could I feel as much complacency in myself as I do 
in some of them, I should be very happy. But you 
know, my dear E, that to be sensible of our de- 
ficiencies, is one step taken toward their removal. I 
do feel that mine are many and great. May I not 
rest satisfied with merely acknowledging, but strive, 
and be enabled to amend them. 

There are a few here (as is generally the case 
where impiety or error prevails, if there are any 
righteous found there, )who appear to be decided in 
their attachment to real religion, and strenuous in its 
support, uninfluenced by the opposition or the flat- 
teries of the contemners and perverters of the faith. 
Dr. G. has frequently preached in town of late. I 
have strong hopes that much good will result from 
his exertions, and those of other Clergymen who are 
labouring to promote the cause of truth. It is melan- 
choly to see people disputing about that Gospel, 
w^hich was designed to produce nothing but peace 
on earth. But I beheve that the overruling prov- 
idence of God frequently causes the most salutary 
effects to arise from religious controversy. Truth 
never suffers by investigation; and it is evidently bet- 
ter to hear people inquiring what is truth, than qui- 
etly embracing error, without endeavouring to ascer- 
tain whether they are right or not. 



In July of this year Mrs. Huntington made a visit to 
her parents. While with them,she wrote several let- 
ters to her friends in different parts of the country. 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. L. 

Killingworiii, August 1, 1809. 

It is a week to day, my dear E., since I bade 
adieu to vour uleasant town; and I am the more 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 35 



desirous of taking this early opportunity to write 
you, as I suppose you will be anxious to know 
whether I reached home in safety. That I left your 
family with regret, you will not doubt; but that the 
parting would have been so painful as it was, I could 
not have imagined. It Vvas justifiable in me to suffer 
myself to become attached to you; situated as I was, 
it would have been unpardonabl'^^ if I had not. But 
I believe that if we would not suffer our affections 
to become so ardent, as we sometimes do, for those 
whose society we cannot long enjoy, the separations 
vre must experience in this life would be far less 
distressing. Some however Vvould say, and perhaps 
not without reason, this would be the philosophy of 
a stoic. 

Our ride was as pleasant as could be expected, 
and our sail as agreeable as high and adverse winds 
would permit. I found our family well, and happy 
to see me, and my dear little native village appeared 
very lovely, after my short residence amid the noise 
and bustle of a giddy metropolis. Did I not believe, 
with Milton, that the mind is its ovrn place, and in 
itself can make every circmiistance and situation, 
merely temporal, productive of happiness or misery, 
and did I not also believe the more consolitory doc- 
trine, that all things and events are under the direc- 
tion of One who cannot err, I should sometimes be 
almost disposed to sigh for the solitude to which my 
mind and feelings are so well adapted. But I trust 
that the situation in which providence has placed 
me, if it exposes me more to temptation than my 
former one, v.ill also lead me to more watchfulness 
and caution; and that I shall be enabled to fill 
properly that station which is "a call to duty, not 
a discharo^e from care." 



36 MEMOIRS OF 



TO THE SAME. 

Killingicortk, September 9, lo09. 

You will be pleased to hear that the attention to 
religion in this place rather increases than subsides. 
New instances of conviction occur almost daily. I 
trust that this shower of divine grace, which is but 
just begun, will not cease until it has plentifully wa- 
tered this dry and thirsty ground. Heaven grant it 
may not. It is a cause of lamentation, that the 
Christian world is so divided in opinion, and that 
the religion of Jesus, which is calculated to produce 
only peace among its disciples, should so often be 
made, by them, an occasion for animosity and dis- 
sention. But so it is, and will be, so long as men are 
subject to deception, and possess the frailties of fallen 
humanity. We see, that the world is torn with civil 
as well as religious dissensions, and that people dis- 
agree about every thing else, as well as about relig- 
ion; and therefore, we know that it is not Chris- 
tianity which produces the tumults of controversy. 

The essential doctrines of the Gospel should be 
earnestly, though prudently maintained, for these 
are the foundation of the Christian system; as, for 
instance, the deity and the atonement of Christ, and 
the entire depravity of hum em nature. Take away 
either of these, and the whole Gospel system is 
levelled with the dust. When pleading for char- 
ity, and liberty of conscience, we must be careful 
not to sufier ourselves to consider doctrines as un- 
important; for if, as is often said, it is no matter 
what a man believes if he is only sincere, we might 
as well, so far as our prospects for eternity are con- 
cerned, be groping in the darkness of Paganism, as 
sitting under the sunshine of the Gospel. This is a 
charity of which Christ and his apostles certainly 
knew nothing; and it is as prejudicial to the caus^^ 
of religion, as it is absurd in the view of reason. But- 



I 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 3T 

about forms, it appears to me, we are by far too fas- 
tidious. Faith and repentance are required of us in 
order to salvation, and these may be experienced in 
every denomination w^here the fundamentals of Chris- 
tianity are received. 

The reason, my dear E., of my making these remarks 
is, that I was thinking how unhappy it is that there 
is so much disputing here about baptism and com- 
munion. The virulence of party spirit is exceedingly 
apt to eat out the vitals of pure religion; and it pains 
me to behold many, apparently, more desirous to 
gain disciples to their own distinctive, but unessen- 
tial, opinions, than to direct perishing souls to Christ. 
There is no doubt that some of the various modes of 
worship, are more agreeable to the example of the 
primitive Christians and the spirit of the New Testa- 
ment than others, and it is unquestionably desirable 
to ascertain and practice those modes. Yet if, by 
the influence of circumstances, we are led to prefer 
worshipping God in some of those other ways, I can- 
not think it is an error for which we shall be con- 
demned. I could wish all Christians were united in 
worshipping Jehovah in the same manner, but I 
esteem it the principal thing to worship him in spirit 
and in truth. 

TO THE SAME. 

Killingwcrth, October 11, 1809. 

I received your father's letter last week. The 
intelligence it contained of the death of your beloved 
sister, was truly distressing. The consolations of the 
religion of Christ, my dear E., invariably support the 
mind, if we have faith, to apply them to ourselves; 
and these only can support it, when called to endure 
trials like yours. Your affliction is indeed great, and 
your loss no common one. In this light you are 
allowed to view it. Resignation does not imply in- 
sensibility. But still, a sense of the greatness of our 
4 



r> 



8 MEMOIRS 01? 



loss, should never be suffered to produce feelings of 
dissatisfaction with the dispensations of providence. 
God has a right to visit us with greater, as well as 
with less, judgments; and it is our duty to be propor- 
tionably humbled and improved. If they promote 
these ends, they are only mercies in a more unpleas- 
ant form; for, as has been well remarked, ^'whatevei* 
draws us nearer to God cannot be real adversity, and 
whatever entices us from him deserves not the name 
of prosperity." Could we view objects in their 
proper light, many of those things which now over- 
whelm us with sorrow would appear desirable. 

How happy it is for us that our lot is not at our own 
disposal. Were it so, I am certain we should be wretch- 
ed; for the deficiency of our judgments, in connexion 
with our love of present ease, would lead us to reject 
those afflictions which, like some unpleasant but sal- 
utary medicine, are bitter to the taste, but necessary 
to existence and health, and to grasp too eagerly 
those enjoyments, which, if unaccompanied with 
sanctifying grace, only corrupt and vitiate the mind, 
and render the possession of them wearisome and the 
deprivation of them insupportable, and which de- 
stroy both the means and the power of attaining true 
happiness, by drawing us away from Him, without 
whom w^e can no more acquire it, than animal life 
can be supported without breath. Let us always 
rejoice that God reigns, and that we are entirely at 
his disposal. How consolatory the thought; for the 
Judge of all the earth will do right. Let us, my 
dear sister, by this "awful warning heaven has sent," 
learn to esteem every thing in this life according to 
its proper value. Whatever cannot be depended 
upon, should never be trusted. Let us, therefore, 
cease to hope for happiness from the evanescent 
pleasures of life, and fix our eyes and our hearts upon 
those things which shall survive when heaven and 
earth have passed away. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTOX, 39 

TO A FRIEND AT B. 

Kiilingicorth, October 16, 1809. 

You have, I understand, been disappointed about 
obtaining Dr. K. This, according to man's judg- 
ment, appears to be an inauspicious circumstance to 
your church. But very likely, nay most assuredly, 
it is designed to accomplish important purposes, and 
will be seen to have been productive of good in the 
end. Perhaps you trusted too much in an arm of 
jflesh, and this is to teach you that all the power is of 
God, and to lead you to exercise stronger faith in 
him alone, v»'ithout whose gracious assistance and 
blessing, every human effort to advance the Redeem- 
er's kingdom will be ineffectual. It is very desirable 
that you should obtain a faithful minister, one who 
will preach the truth in its simplicity, and who will 
not fear to declare the whole counsel of God. And 
such an one, I trust, you will obtain. The people of 
B. have many prayers, and the effectual fervent 
prayer of the righteous availeth much. We believe 
that you will yet have a time of refreshing from the 
presence of the Lord. There are many real Chris- 
tians in that favoured metropolis. But some of them, 
though they are not dead, are sleeping. How ne- 
cessary is watchfulness in order to preserve spiritual 
communion with the sacred Three; without which 
the Christian cannot be happy, for lukewarmness in 
religion is as inimical to our enjoyment as it is 
offensive to God. 

TO MISS L., OF N. H. 

Boston, January 1, 1810. 

Through the kindness of providence, I reached 
this place in safety; and now you doubtless wish 
to know where and how I am situated. We have 
been keeping house seven or eight weeks, and as 



40 MEMOIRS OF 

I have for company one to whom the manage- 
ment of a family is familiar, I get along very well. 
Happiness, I find, is confined to no particular state 
or place; and I can say with the Psalmist, (I wish 
it were with the same pious gratitude,) Goodness 
and mercy have followed me all the days of my 
life. I also find, as I have always found, that 
no situation is exempt from trouble; and, while sur- 
rounded by blessings which demand my thankful 
acknowledgments, I see and feel, in myself, and in 
those about me, numberless evils which excite 
pain, and should produce humiliation. To the soul 
which can, with unshaken faith, repose, not only 
its own cares, but those of others in whom it is 
interested, on the arm of Him who is mighty to 
save, and which can view every event, whatever be 
its nature or effects, as necessary to answer some 
wise design of providence, nothing can be so dis- 
tressing as entirely to break its peace. 

The truth of this remark is, I think, evinced by the 
conduct of some Christians in this place, who, though 
they mourn the sad declension of vital piety here, are 
filled with joy and confidence in God, and feel that, 
should the times grow darker and darker, they could 
still trust in Him who is able to dispel the clouds 
of ignorance and sin which hang over us, and cause 
the righteousness of Zion to go forth as brightness 
and the salvation thereof as a lamp that burnethc 
Nor does the persuasion that when God sees it most 
for his glory to pour out his Spirit upon us he will 
do it, lead them to indulge in supineness and indif- 
ference in requesting it and using the means to obtain 
it; for they remember that the promise is made to 
those who ask and knock and seek and strive, and 
that God has said he will be inquired of by the house 
of Israel to do these things for them. I believe, 
however, that this high degree of grace is acquired, 
and retained without interruption, by very few; 
though it is the duty, and, but for our wickedness, 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 41 

might be the privilege, of all believers to acquire 
and preserve it. 

As to my own feelings in reference to the spirit- 
ual condition of the thousands around me, I ac- 
knowledge with shame, that they are very different 
from what they should be. At times, I feel a desire 
for their salvation, and a conviction that God is 
not far off. Sometimes I feel almost confident thai 
he will soon cause the glorious rays of the Sun 
of righteousness to shine upon us, with a power 
seldom before seen, because the darkness is greater 
than has commonly been known. At other times 
I am almost led to ask if the Lord has forgotten to 
be gracious, and cast off his people forever; or I 
grow unmindful of the alarming situation of the im- 
penitent, and feel little solicitude for the revival of 
the work of God. And in reference to my own 
situation, I sometimes feel as if the lines had fallen 
to me in pleasant places, and think my spiritual pri- 
vileges greater than ever; and at other times, I 
almost exclaim. Woe is me, that I sojourn in Mesech, 
and dwell in the tents of Kedar! I know I am in- 
excusable for this inconstancy of religious feeling; 
but you would be less surprised at it, if you saw and 
heard the different persons I see, the different ser- 
mons I hear, and the different conversations I have. 
At one time I hear a sermon exalting to the pinnacle 
of praise, human virtue, and the excellence of our 
nature, and calling upon those to whom it is ad- 
dressed, to improve those good tendencies v,hich 
they naturally possess, and which, if cultivated, will 
lead to holiness and to heaven. At another time I 
hear a sermon, written with all the energy which 
the arguments, persuasions and truths of Christian- 
ity can give to a discourse, — an energy in the cause 
of truth which appears almost irresistible. Somev 
times I talk with a Christian whose every word 
breathes faith, humility, and love, and pours into 
my soul comfort and instruction. Soon aftei with 



42 MEMOIRS OF 

another professed Christian who will maintain that 
truths, for which martyrs suffered the loss of all 
things, even of life, are unimportant. These things 
perhaps, as I have already remarked, would not 
affect, so as to destroy his peace and his confidence 
in God, one who possessed that strong faith which 
views every thing, moral as well as natural evil, as 
under the divine direction and controul. But, alas! 
though I know that God reigns, and that not a spar- 
row falleth to the ground without our Father, I 
sometimes sink into despondency and unbelief. 

When are S. and E. to be married? Dear girls! 
I hope they will be happy in this state, which must 
be very happy, or very miserable. I am no advocate 
for cold esteem only, between those who are to live 
together, and in so close a connexion, through life. 
But I believe extravagant, misjudged attachment 
misleads more than that of an opposite character. 
If the understanding and judgment condemn what 
the passions only approve, and if this is the sub- 
stance of the love which is to unite husband and 
wife, there is great danger of its proving like a fire 
of dry stubble, which, though it may burn to the 
skies for the present moment, soon dies away, to be 
enkindled no more. 



TO A FBIEND AT N. Y. 

Boston, Jamiavij 14; 1810. 

I am happy that you estimate your religious 
privileges so highly. I believe your remark, that 
they are equal, if not superior, to those of any 
other place, is correct; it is unquestionably correct 
if the comparison extends to other parts of America 
only. And perhaps there is not another place in 
the world that has, in proportion to the number of 
its clergy, so many pious, evangelical and great 
men among its ministers as N. Y. The inhabitants 
ought to feel that their mercies are pecuhar, and 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 43 

strive, by earnest endeavours to improve them, to 
secure their continuance. But, though rehgious 
privileges are greater in some places than in others, 
thanks be to God! they are unspeakably great 
wherever the Gospel emits its unerring light. With 
this infallible guide in our hands, and the grace of 
God in our hearts, there is fear of nothing but re- 
missness in seaixhing out its divine truths, and of 
embracing errors; not because we have not the 
means of knowledge, but for the want of a disposi- 
tion to improve them. 

My dear friend, when we think of the various 
spiritual privileges with which we have been blessed 
from infancy, with what contrition ought our hearts 
to be filled that we gained so little with the talents 
entrusted to us! I speak of us both, because I am 
sure my dear N. will not say, 'I am not culpa- 
ble here;' and though I hope slie is far less so than 
I am, I knov/ we must all consider ourselves as mere 
cumberers of the ground compared with what we 
should be. I hope, my beloved friend, Vv e are not 
entirely blind to the concerns of eternity. I hope 
God has taught us by his grace that happiness is in 
him alone; and not only taught us this, but enabled 
us, through faith in his Son, to lay hold on it for 
ourselves. This hope is a presumptuous one, like 
the hope of the hypocrite which shrJl perish, unless 
we have those evidences of its genuineness v/hich 
are mentioned in the Scriptures; such as habitual 
communion with God, daily seeking, in faith, from 
Christ, forgiveness for the past and strength for the 
future, voluntary denying of ourselves, abstraction 
from the vrorld, &c. And when I behold in hoAV 
small a degree these evidences are in myself, I some- 
times fear that I am yet without God and without 
hope in the world, kemcmbering, therefore, that 
many come almost to the kingdom of heaven who 
never enter it, and that there is great danger of our 



44 MEMOIRS OF 

being deceived, let us examine ourselves whether we 
are indeed in the faith, and strive to make our calling 
and election sure, lest, when weighed in the balance, 
we be found wanting. 

You ask my opinion of Thornton Abbey. I re- 
gret that I am unable to give it. Through some 
misunderstanding between Mr. Huntington and my- 
self when I was in Connecticut, each of us thought 
the other had subscribed for it. It is doubtless a 
fine work. We may reasonably presume so from its 
having the recommendation of Andrew Fuller. 
You have probably seen Coelebs, the late fashionable 
work of Miss Hannah More. It has been highly 
celebrated, and I think justly. Perhaps books of 
this sort, in which religious sentiments are inculcated 
under the form of a story, are calculated to do more 
good to a certain class of society than any other, I 
mean to those who read merely for amusement. 
They would fly from any thing exclusively didactic; 
but, being allured by the fictitious part of a work 
like this, might read it, and, perhaps meet with that 
conviction which, notwithstanding its promises to 
amuse, it is calculated to produce. 

TO A FKIEND AT N. H. 

Boston, March 14, 1810. 

When the faith of Christians meets with much op- 
position, when they feel that there is no middle 
ground, that they must, vnih. firmness declare for 
Christ or the world, and resolve to give up God or 
Mammon, they are apt to live more near to God, 
and to experience more of the power of divine grace, 
than when religion is respectable in the estimation 
of the world. And the reason is obvious; they feel 
more the necessity of maintaining continual inter- 
course with Him from whom they know they must 
derive strength against temptation, and grace to help 
iji time of need. Happy, thrice happy, those on 



lyms. SUSAN huntington. 45 

whom opposition produces this effect! Some such 
Christians there are here, who have long stood firm 
in their attachment to the truth, and in devoted- 
Hess to the service of Christ. 

I have been reading Mihier's Church History this 
winter, and am highly pleased with it. Critics 
w^ould say Mosheim's is the most learned; but Mil- 
ner's is far the most evangelical, and will be far 
more useful, at least to private Christians. When 
one reads Church history he expects to find a history 
of the Churchy and not a tiresome detail of eccle- 
siastical heresies, wars and divisions, intermixed with 
much entirely secular informatioji. Something of 
this is unavoidable, as heresies have been frequent 
in the church, and ecclesiastical and profane history 
are intimately connected; y^eirthe reader's attention 
should, as often as possible, be directed to the real 
church, that he may see that there has always 
been such a church, which he will be very likely to 
forget, in reading Mosheim and some other church 
historians. 

TO ANOTHER FRIEND AT N. H. 

Boston, March 16, 1810, 

Your situation, my dear friend, is certainly on 
some accounts, a distressing one. The fear you ex- 
press, lest you shall be left to depart from Him, 
under whose banner you have enlisted, by reason 
of temptation, is a fear w^hich Christians, I believe, 
often feel. When we reflect on the disinclination 
of our hearts to the pursuit of our highest good, 
and the opposition to holiness, which remains in 
them, after its governing power has been destroyed 
by grace, it should humble us. And w^hen we feel 
its influence, it may lead us to doubt whether we 
are in Him who is the true God and eternal life. 
Yet, let us not be discouraged, for we can do all 
things through Christ strengthening us. 



46 



MEMOIRS OF 



How prone we are, my dear Miss S., to exclaim 
with the Patriarch, All these things are against me! 
when under affliction; and yet every Christian will, at 
last, find, with him^ that God meant it for good. If, as 
is undoubtedly the fact, we are inclined to look to, and 
be satisfied with, the things which are seen and tem- 
poral, and if this disposition is not only our sin, but 
our misery, then what reason have we to bless God 
that he has so disposed things that no situation in 
life is so exempt from trouble, as to make us per- 
fectly contented in it without higher enjoyments^ 
The Christian certainly has reason to glory in tri- 
bulation, for he has the promise of God that all 
things shall work together for his good. And, con- 
sequently, the afflictions he is called to endure, so 
far from overwhelming him with unavailing distress, 
should operate as renewed excitements to duty and 
exertion. 

You will be pleased to hear that Mr. Huntington 
lias, of late, been considerably encouraged by the 
moral appearance of his society. Nothing has oc- 
curred deserving the name of a revival; but a spirit 
of inquiry in some, and of violent opposition in oth- 
ers, begins to prevail. Opposition to the truth 
is always to be regretted; but when people are 
yoused to ask what is truth, and are enlightened 
to see that there is really a great difference between 
it and error, though some reject, and exhibit their 
hatred of, the doctrines of Scripture, we may hope 
there will be a more general reception of the truth. 
The greatest danger lies in men's believing all relig- 
ions pretty much alike, and those who respectively 
adopt them, equally acceptable to God, if they are 
only sincere. 

TO MISS L. OF N. H. 

Boston, November 4; 1810. 

I do not approve of people's constantly complain- 
ing to others of their hearts; it is, in general, a con- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 47 

cern between themselves and God only. But to my 
dear M., I may speak with freedom. And it is a 
great comfort that we can sometimes find a friend, to 
w^hom we may communicate the enjoyments or dis- 
couragements of our spiritual life, whose affection 
for us forbids our fearing to be betrayed, and whose 
experience prevents the apprehensions of being mis- 
understood. Such a friend is my dear M.; and as 
such, notwithstanding my many doubts concerning 
myself, I am sure I love her. Should we ever be so 
happy as finally to arrive at the spiritual Canaan^ 
and be enabled, through Christ, to claim it as our 
own, we shall look back with astonishment upon the 
way by which we have been led. And surely a 
sense of the innumerable dangers which attended 
our journey, and the capacity we shall then have of 
discerning the wonderful manner in which God 
made them all subservient to our progress in holiness, 
will greatly swell the song, and enhance the enjo}^ 
ments, of victory. Perhaps some of the doubts and 
discouragements of the Christian are of this kind; 
though painful to be borne, they may, by the over- 
ruling mercy of God, be made to accelerate his speed 
in running the race set before him, and, by showing 
him the necessity of doing so, cause him to live 
nearer to God. That my doubts and discourage- 
ments may be of this kind, or rather, may be thus 
overruled, (for I know they are to be deprecated, 
and are highly criminal,) is my earnest prayer. 

TO THE SAME. 

Boston, December 20, 1810. 

I am pleased that your journey to the south has 
been deferred. But my pleasure in this, as I often 
fear it is, in most other things from which I derive 
thai sensation, is selfish. I anticipate the satisfac- 
tion of hearing from you more frequently than if 
you were at Charleston, and, possibly, of secino* 



48 MEMOIRS OF 

you in the spring. You, my kind friend, have been 
more acquainted with my mental concerns, than any 
one else; and, I rejoice that heaven has blessed me 
with your acquaintance. 

I believe there are many of Bunyan's "Ignorances," 
whose self-deception has its foundation in incorrect 
apprehensions of Jehovah. They do not realize his 
infinite abhorrence of all sin; and thus, imagining 
"a God all mercy," they never discover the native 
opposition of their hearts to his holiness, and conse- 
quently never exercise that evangelical repentance, 
founded upon just views of the malignant nature, 
and destructive tendency of sin, without which, 
Christ has said, we shall perish. They do not see 
such a transcendant excellence and beauty in holi- 
ness, as to feel that every thing else is, compara- 
tively, of no importance, and that the destitution of 
it, in a moral agent, deserves an endless punishment. 

I wish you, my dear M., to pray that I may have 
clearer conceptions, soul-transforming conceptions, 
of the adorable perfections of God. Oh! with what 
amazing transport of wonder, love, and astonish- 
ment, does the view of them fill the angels in heaven, 
and those, whose minds are enlightened to discern 
them, in this world! Pray that I may see the beauty 
of holiness, and the deformity of sin, without that 
intercepting veil, which Satan and a depraved nature 
are so apt to cast over our minds, when we attempt 
to view them in their true characters. 

Oh! for a closer walk with God! 

A calm and heavenly frame! 
A light to shine upon the road 

Which leads me to the Lamb. 

Do you not think, my dear M., that we are some- 
times blame-worthy in looking with too charitable 
an eye upon the experiences of others.^ Is there not 
reason to fear that, at the judgment day, some may 
rise up and accuse us of having been the means of 
lulling them to sleep, when the fire of destruction 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 49 

was, even then, in their bosoms? Great caution is 
necessary, when we attempt to administer consola- 
tion. I would rather a friend should be too severely 
exact with me, than too compassionate. I hope 1 
shall be more cautious myself in future. But we, 
my beloved friend, I humbly hope^hovrever different 
our experiences may have been, can unite with the 
Psalmist in saying, in the sincerity of our souls. 
Examine me, O Lord, and prove me; try my reins, 
and my heart. 

Our friend is to be married, in a short time, 

to Mr. of , whose eminent piety promises 

her, should God spare their lives, a long succession 
of happy years. Oh! the importance of religion in 
order to render the married state a blessing! how 
important to render any situation in lifeTiappy! 1 
bless God that I feel more powerfully than ever my 
need of it, and think I have more insatiable longings 
after it. Dear, dear M., what need is there of 
careful self-examination, to determine whether we 
possess it or not? How much of our apparent love 
to God may arise solely from the hope that he will 
save us? how much fram erroneous views of his 
character? How much of v.hat we consider our re- 
pentance, may flow merely from sin's destroying our 
evidences, and thus taking away our hope, and not 
from any just apprehension of its malignant nature? 
How much of our obedience may spring from other 
causes than a desire to promote the glory of God? 
How much of our faith may be no more than the faith 
of devils — unaccompanied with love; and which, if 
w^e were only assured of our acceptance with God, 
would be altogether inoperative and dead? 

I think I have heard you say, you were not 
acquainted with Andrew Fuller's works. I admire 
them very much. A volume of Essays by him, has 
lately been published in this country. They are, 
like all of his works, which I have seen, excellent. 
1 have been reading some of President Edwards' 
5 



50 MEMOIRS OF 

sermons lately. I think they are even closer and 
more searching than his treatise on the affections. 



TO A FRIEND AT N. H. 

Boston ) January 25; 181 L 

The loss you have sustained m the death of your 
brother, is truly great. When you reflect on his 
amiable disposition, his talents which promised so 
much, and the favour and affection which he was 
gaining from all who knew him, you are doubtless 
almost ready to exclaim, Never was sorrow like my 
sorro¥/. Our faith is seldom, if ever, more tried 
than when we are called to give up those friends, with 
whose existence our happiness is materially connect- 
ed. Nor can we, perhaps, have conclusive evidence 
of its genuineness, till called to pass through the 
furnace of affliction. The faith of the formalist or 
the hypocrite, may appear to be sound, as long as 
God sheds upon him the unclouded sun of prosperity^ 
But if he cause clouds and darkness to overspread his 
horison, then he exclaims, The way of the Lord is 
not equal. It is a proof of true faith, to be able^ 
when all things are against us, to lift a tranquil eye 
to Him who sits on the throne of the heavens, holding 
the reins of universal dominion in his hand, and say. 
Just and true are thy ways, O thou King of saints. 
This disposition, my dear friend, I trust you feel, 
though it may be imperfectly. And if so, you may 
be assured this affliction will work for your good. 
Nothing deserves the name of adversity which leads 
us to a more perfect knowledge of, and dependance 
upon. Him whose favour is life, and whose loving- 
kindness is better than life; and that the death of 
friends is designed to have this effect upon Christians, 
is undeniable. Therefore, to the Christian, afflic- 
tions are as truly mercies, as those gifts to which we 
are apt to appropriate the term, 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 51 

But, perhaps you will say, 'I fear I am not a Chris- 
tian.' Dear S., if this is the case, I feel for, and 
mourn with you. I can do so, for my own mind is 
often clouded with doubts respecting my spiritual 
state. Nothing is so distressing as this. Any thing 
can be borne, if it is tempered and sweetened with 
the presence and l^lessing of God. '-Examine your- 
selves, whether ye be in the faith," is an injunction 
of Scripture. I dare not, therefore, say, hope with- 
out examining; but, my beloved friend, I may say, 
do not despond. Look not to yourself; look to 
Christ, the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin 
of the world. None of us need despair, while we 
have such a mighty and merciful Saviour to whom 
we may repair; who is the Author and the Finisher 
of faith; who never yet cast off, who never will cast 
off, any who come to him. 

TO A FRIEND AT — . 



Boston, August 15, 1811. 

It gives me great pleasure, my dear friend.to learn 
that you are so well pleased with your new situation, 
and that your society are so well pleased with you; 
Vv^hich I learned from a friend of yours. The appro- 
bation of those with whom we are connected, is 
desirable, if it does not interfere with, or divert us 
from duty. Our influence depends upon the opinion 
others entertain of us; and influence, rightly used, 
may promote the glory of God and the best interests 
of men. I have no doubt but my dear will im- 
prove every advantage she may have from the esti- 
mation of her friends, to advance His kingdom and 
cause, to whose glory our every talent should be 
devoted. The wife of a clergyman is more narrowly 
watched than almost any one else. Her deviations 
from duty are very seldom overlooked; her opinions 
are minutely examined and often repeated. She is 
thought to take her notions of things, to a consider* 



52 MEMOIRS OF 

able extent, from her husband; and, of course, he 
suffers if she is imprudent. When I reflect on the 
responsibiUty of this situation, I tremble; and should 
faint, had not One, whose strength I sometimes feel 
as if I could lay hold upon, said, ^'Mj grace is suffi- 
cient for thee." 

I have nothing particularly pleasing of a religious 
nature to communicate. The day of small things we 
are commanded not to despise, and such is our day. 
It is matter of great joy when any are hopefully 
brought to the knowledge of the truth; and we have 
had several instances of young, thoughtless, pleasure- 
seeking sinners, laying down the weapons of their 
rebellion, and enlisting under the banner of Christ. 
Our lectures and public exercises are better attended 
than I have ever known them before. The most 
fixed attention appears on the faces of most of the 
congregation. God has bestowed the hearing ear; 
he is equally able to give the understanding heart. 
Nothing seems to be wanting but that efTectual, fer- 
vent prayer of the righteous, which availeth much. 
For myself, I sometimes feel as if my heart was en- 
larged to pray for the upbuilding of Zion. And when 
I am lifeless in the duties of personal religion, I feel 
as if I had some yearnings of soul over Christless 
sinners. But my heart is deceitful above all things; 
and I am almost afraid to think I feel, lest I should 
delude myself Oh! my dear friend, how infinitely 
vile and abominable must we appear in the eyes of 
Him who can fully realize what our feelings in rela- 
tion to him, to ourselves, and to sin, should be, and 
know^s exactly what they are! Surely we must be 
stupid if the thought does not cause us to exclaim, It 
is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed! 
I know nothing in which I am so deficient as in my 
apprehensions of sin. God grant it may be more 
and more opened to my view in all its odiousness, 
and more and more embittered to my soul! I believe 
the want of clear views of this, the nature and vile- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. OO 

ness of sin, is the rock on which thousands split. It 
is the want of this, that makes the Arminian think he 
can save himself, the Unitarian deny the necessity 
of an atonement and the divinity of the Saviour, and 
the Universalist, the eternity, and perhaps the reahty, 
of future punishment. It is the want of this, that 
produces those restless replyings against God, which 
are ever found upon the lips of the unregenerate. 
And, may I not add? it is the want of this, v.hich 
sometimes clouds, distresses, and agonizes the Chris- 
tian, when contemplating the tremendous wrath, 
denounced in Scripture, against the finally impeni- 
tent? Oh! how much should professing Christians 
pray for each other! And when w^e reflect that there 
was an unhumbled Judas even among the twelve, 
how should it excite us to seek, with anxious soli- 
citude, to make our calling and election sure. 



TO MISS L., OF N. H. 

Boston, August 30, IS 1.1. 

There is nothing so astonishing, my dear M., 
nothing that places the thorough, universal, and 
malignant depravity of our nature in so clear a point 
of view, as our neglecting to improve the dealings 
of the blessed God with us, which are all calculated 
to lead us to repentance, and then finding fault with 
him for not giving us ability to love him (when all 
our inability lies in a criminal aversion, the most 
unreasonable and unjust, to his perfect character) 
and making that inability an excuse for not loving 
him. Oh, could we view this subject as angels view 
it, and as we shall one day view it, it must fill us 
with wonder and astonishment, — wonder at the for- 
bearance and mercy of God, astonishment at the 
moral degradation and turpitude of man. When I 
look into my own heart, and behold those endless 
replyings against God which lurk there; when I 
ihink what must be the fountain from which they 



54 MEMOIRS OF 

spring; it would seem as if I should be filled with 
repentance, as if I should mourn, with deep and 
penitential sorrow, over my unspeakable, my amaz- 
ing guilt. But still I am freezing with impenitence! 
The law is holy, and the commandment holy, just, and 
good; man is bound to comply with it; God must not 
relax his requirements; if he should, his law would 
not be strict enough to check the progress and influ- 
ence of sin; and sin, unrestrained, would soon dis- 
organize his whole moral system, and banish happi- 
ness from the universe. This I know and believe; 
and yet I rebel! Yes, the w^orm lifts her unrighteous 
head, and asks, 'what doest thou? and why doest thou 
thus?' This is what troubles me. I am afraid I 
have never been brought truly to submit all things 
to the disposal of God, especially to submit to his 
righteousness in the condemnation of sinners. I fear 
I have never yet seen aright the dreadful evil of sin, 
and that this is the source of the misgivings I some- 
times experience, as to its just desert of eternal 
punishment. But Jehovah is, I know he is, right- 
eous in all his ways, and holy in all his works; and 
he has said, that 'Hhe wicked shall be turned into 
hell; where their worm dieth not, and the fire shall 
never be quenched." Hush, then, every murmuring, 
doubting thought, every rebelhous, discontented 
feeling! Oh, for deeper views of the vileness, the 
exceeding vileness of sin, for stronger and more 
abiding confidence in the rectitude and the goodness 
of God! Pray for me, my dear M., in particular; 
and pray for false professors, for it is to be feared 
there are many such. 

My mind, I ought to add after what I have said, 
is generally tranquil. I am comfortable in hope; and 
this is my hope, that I have received something of 
ihe grace of God, and he who has begun the good 
work,* will perform it unto the day of Jesus Christ. 
I cannot but feel, with the wife of Manoah, that if 
the Lord had not intended good for me, he would 
not have shewn me all these things. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 55 

Is it common for minds to recur, with something 
like melancholy, to past scenes of a pleasant char- 
acter^ Or is my doing it, owing to a constitutional 
disposition to attach gloom to every thing^' I have 
tried long and hard to arrive at the true answer to 
this question. I am inclined to think that the emo- 
tion to which I refer, is peculiar to persons whose 
feelings have more of the sensitive and enthusiastic 
in them, than those of the rest of the world; and 
such are mine. This, added to a natural propensity 
to pensive reflections, will perhaps account for the 
effect of which I have spoken. Dear M., when I 
look forward to the trials I may meet with, and 
realize my own impotence, I feel that, if I am 
supported, it will be a glorious instance of the power 
of God's grace to overcome and subdue constitutional 
infirmities, and bear up the spirit, when every thing 
seems combined to counteract its influence. I know 
that extreme sensibility is generally considered an 
excellence in our sex. But why should we, whose 
bodily weakness, and necessary trials subject us to a 
larger portion of misery than men, be led to con- 
sider that as amiable, which only relaxes those ener- 
gies of the mind which will prepare us for suffering? 
I cannot sufficiently deprecate the influence which 
such a sentiment may have upon the mind. Women 
are too generally brought up to think resolution use- 
less, and led, by false notions of delicacy, to glory 
in their weakness. But the voice of the world 
changes when circumstances require the exercise 
of fortitude. Then, the very sensations which be- 
fore excited pleasure, are considered as indications 
of weakness and folly. I wish women would en- 
deavour, in all proper ways, to strengthen their 
more vigorous powers, as reason, judgment, &c., 
and pay less attention to the cultivation of their 
imagination, which in most of our sex, has naturally 
sufficient vigor. 



56 



MEMOIRS OF 



TO A FRIEND AT M, 



Boston, September 9, ISll. 

I am pleased to learn that your present situation is 
so agreeable, and your health so good. You have in- 
deed mercies in the midst of judgments, and mercies 
of a peculiarly delightful kind. Nothing with re- 
spect to your departed mother, could afford you so 
much satisfaction as the reflection that she lived not 
in vain; and that she has only been removed from 
an inferior station, (where indeed she made it her 
constant effort to act the part of a good and faithful 
servant, but where her sphere of action was com- 
paratively contracted, her powers cramped, and her 
conflicts many,) to one where she can serve God 
without weariness or imperfection, and constantly 
witness his approving smile. I am not so much a 
stranger, my dear E,, to the nature of your sorrow, 
as to suppose that you grieve for her who is gone. 
You feel that her departure from this world is her 
gain, though it be your loss. But when you look 
to yourself, and reflect upon your impotency, your 
need of counseL and your exposure to temptation, 
you feel the want of that friend to vv^hom you have 
so long been in the habit of going for direction and 
support; and, though you would not recal her, you 
cannot forbear to mourn. ''It were no virtue," says 
one, ''to bear calamities, if we did not feel them." 

The mind which is peculiarly susceptible of impres- 
sions,— though I have sometimes thought it needs 
more grace to enable it to sustain afflictions than one 
of a different mould,— has, perhaps, some peculiar 
advantages. In such a mind, if it be a sanctified 
one, the sense of dependence must be much stronger, 
and, of course, application to Him, whose grace is 
sufficient in every time of need, more frequent. 
And whatever leads us to God for strength is a great 
blessing; for all that is obtained any w^here else, but 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON, 57 

trom the fulness that is in Christ, is but weakness, 
however specious its appearance may be. Your 
feelings are acute, and, on this account, you have a 
harder struggle; but, for the same reason, you will 
have a more glorious victory. And He, who has 
wounded, will heal; He, who has broken, will bind 
up. He knows how much to inflict, to accomplish 
his gracious designs concerning you; and he will lay 
no more upon you than he will enable you, if you 
look to him, to bear. Distrust is the sin against 
which we have more need to be on our guard — I 
had almost said, than any other. No sin is more 
offensive to God, none more distressing to ourselves. 
How glorious, how triumphant, would the Christian 
shine in sufferings, would he, at all times, exercise 
that unshaken faith which his religion enjoins! 
His would not be the lifeless calm of the cessation 
of feeling, but the divme union of those seeming 
contradictions — ^^sorrowful, yet rejoicing; having 
nothing, and yet possessing all things"! Let us, 
my dear friend, endeavour, whether in prosperity 
or adversity, to cling to the cross of Christ, which 
possesses a virtue, that will render the one harmless 
and the other salutary, or rather, that will render 
both salutary. And remembering each other's 
weaknesses, let us never forget to commend each 
other, and the whole Israel of God, to his grace, 
which is able to carry us through all things unto 
eternal salvation. 

Six persons were admitted to our church yester- 
day. There seems to be a growing seriousness 
among us. I cannot but hope that God has a blessing 
in store for us. The Holy Spirit would have much 
error and prejudice to overcome in this place. But 
God has said that the people shall be made willing 
in the day of his power; and I sometimes have a 
strong hope that his gracious power will speedily be 
exerted in this way among this people, and thus 



58 



MEMOIRS OF 



obtain for itself great glory. No one, I think, who 
reahzes, in any proper manner, the importance of the 
salvation of a single soul, can help praying for the 
up-building of Zion. And great things are promised 
m answer to prayer. If Christians were truly en- 
gaged in pleading and labouring for the prosperity 
and peace of Jerusalem, I am sure that we should 
see her streets running down with righteousness, and 
on her walls written inscriptions of praise. 

TO A FRIEND AT N. L. 

Boston J November 24; 1811. 

Your remarks, my dear M., are just; and were 
letters always, or even generally, the medium of 
religious communication, I think I may say without 
arrogance or hypocrisy, I should devote my time to 
maintaining many correspondences with less regret. 
Such, I trust, however, will be our correspondence^ 
and therefore, I confidently expect it will prove use- 
ful, and that we shall find the time devoted to it, 
time employed to the best advantage. 

The picture you draw of our insensibility to eter- 
nal concerns is correct. That awful unbelief, which 
man inherits by the apostasy, is never entirely 
rooted out of Christians in the present life. Hence, 
their faith is weak, their gracious affections languid, 
their obedience imperfect. Could we view the sub- 
ject of redeeming grace as we shall view it, if w^e 
are so happy as to arrive at mount Zion above, it 
must, it would, make us feel our obligations. But, 
alas, the sinfulness of our hearts! such a view we 
shall never obtain, till we have passed the dark valley 
of death, and left these clogs of clay behind. In 
the mean while, let us lie low at the footstool, and 
pray that, at least so much of our natural blindness 
may be removed, as that we may see that God's 
love demands more than we can ever pay; and that 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 59 

our natural supineness may be so far overcome, as 
that we may be giving all diligence to work the 
work of God, and make our calling and election 
sure. How much enjoyment do w^e lose by our in- 
activity and indifference! What can be more sur- 
prising than the conduct of those who, though they 
know that God is the Fountain of living waters, 
are continually forsaking him, and hewing them 
out cisterns, broken cisterns, which they also know 
can hold no water? And such is the conduct cf 
most who profess to have been engrafted into Christ 
by faith! 

TO Miss L., OF N. H. 

Boston, March 20. 1812. 

It will give you pleasure to hear that, for some 
time before the birth of my child, I enjoyed a degree 
of spiritual comfort scarcely ever felt before, — not as 
high overflowings of natural feeling, but a sweet and 
delightful calm, arising from the consciousness of the 
infinite integrity, faithfulness, holiness and goodness 
of God; and that these feelings were continued, for 
the most part, during my sickness. I am only aston- 
ished, and, I hope, grieved, that I love and serve the 
blessed Jehovah no better. When I reflect on his 
unbounded goodness to me, who deserve nothing, 
on the infinite excellence and holiness of his charac- 
ter, and my obhgations as a ransomed sinner and a 
lawful subject, I wonder at myself; I wonder that 
heart, soul, and life, and all, are not unreservedly 
yielded to him who deserves more than I can give. 
Oh, my friend, remember me at the throne of grace. 
Pray that my soul may not be, as it were, the 
^rave of God's mercies; that I may not be entirely 
dead in the vineyard of my gracious Lord, who has, 
as I humbly trust, redeemed me to God by his own 
precious blood. How sweet a passage is this, "The 



60 MEMOIRS OF 

love of Christ constraineth us, &c."? How desirable 
to be thus constrained to hve, not to ourselves, but 
to Him who died for us and rose again? 



In May of this year Mrs. Huntington commenced 
a second Journal, w^hich was continued till near the 
time of her death, and has been preserved. 

Her motives in commencing this record of the Lord's 
dealings with her^ are thus stated by herself, in an 
introductory paragraph: ''Having of late been im- 
pressed with a conviction of the expediency of taking 
down written memorials of special mercies, I shall, 
from this time forward, endeavour to do it. My rea- 
sons for it are these, 1. The remembrance of mercies 
will lead me to extol the goodness of God. 2. I shall 
always have them before me as delightful incite- 
ments to duty. 3. Such a remembrance will lead 
me to trust in God in seasons of doubt and distress. 
4. It will ever shew me the w^eakness and wicked- 
ness of yielding to despondency, my besetting sin. 
And, oh! may the record of the gracious dealings of 
my God ever serve to quicken, enliven and encour- 
age me, and make me faithful, for Christ's sake. 
Amen." 

In the subsequent part of these Memoirs, extracts 
will be made from this Journal, and from her Letters, 
promiscuously, in the order of their respective 
dates, without any other distinction than the mode 
of entering them, which will, at once, indicate to the 
reader from which they are taken. 

The first entry in the Journal is as follows. 

May 21, 1812. Deeply impressed with a sense 
of the vast importance of a mother's duties, and the 
lasting effect of youthful impressions, I this day 
resolve to endeavour, at all times, by my precepts 
and my example, to inspire my children with just 



MRS, SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 61 

notions of right and wrong, of what is to be avoided 
and what pursued, of what is sacredly to be desired 
and what unreservedly deprecated. And, as my 
firm opinion is that we are formed to glorify God, 
and that to enjoy him is our highest happiness, I 
will endeavor by a life corresponding with this 
belief, to convince my children that God's glory is 
my ultimate aim in all that I do, and the enjoyment 
of him my most ardent desire, my unremitted pur- 
suit, and my unspeakable comfort. I will endea- 
vour, by avoiding all superfluous concern about 
dress, furniture, worldly accomplishments, &c., not 
to counteract my precepts, and thus inspire my 
children with the idea, that what I say I think the 
highest good, I really view but as a secondary con- 
sideration; to act uniformly as if a desire after the 
one thing needful, was an abiding, influential princi- 
ple in all my conduct and pursuits. May God give 
me grace to keep these resolutions! 

23. Indulged in many anxious anticipations. Did 
not sufficiently realize that all is at the disposal of a 
Being of infinite wisdom, and was therefore careful 
about many things. V/ell might the prophet say, 
•'Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind 
is stayed on thee." The doctrines of the holy Scrip- 
tures are calculated to maintain the soul in uniform 
serenity. It is our unbelief that counteracts their in- 
fluence. Oh! for grace to view futurity as the only 
consummation of life and happiness, and to see that 
every thing, however discordant to present gratifica- 
tion, has an ultimate reference to it, that there is a 
''need be" for all these things, and that the time is 
coming when every dark providence shall be cleared 
up, and it shall be made manifest that every event 
of this mortal state has been necessary, in the great 
operations of the Director of all things, to perfect 
the work of redeeming grace! How sv/eet it will 
be to trace the blessed concatenation of causes and 
C 



^32 MEMOIRS OF 



effects, and give glory to Him who hath in all thing?^ 
made us more than conquerors! 



Oh, may I bear some humble par^ 

In that immortal song! 
Wonder and joy shall fill my heart- 

And love inspire ray tongue. 



TO A FRIEND IN BOSTON. 

New -London, Jam 8; ISl 2, 

I suppose by this time you wish to know, how 
and where we are, and whether the children bore 
the journey well. I am happy to be able to write, 
that they have both been very good, have made me 
much less trouble than I anticipated, and are very 
well. Mr. Huntington thinks himself in better 
health than when we left home. We have been 
favoured beyond our expectations in the weather, and 
I trust the country air will soon restore him to usual 
strength. 

I assure you, dear H., a line from Boston would 

be A^ery acceptable. It is not true that attachments 

formed in after life are less strong than those imbibed 

in early youth. Never did I feel my affections more 

firmly fixed, than they are on those objects which 

have excited them since I have arrived at maturity. 

My early attachments, however, have ahvaysbeen 

more arcient than they should be. I was ashamed 

that I should feel so much regret at leaving my 

eastern friends only for a few weeks. It argued an 

inordinate love which ought to be resisted. Places 

would be the same to us, in a great measure, if we 

kept our eye and our heart fixed on that eternal 

statCj where we shall really begin to live, where v;^e 

shall be eternally united, where ^-adieus and fare- ! 

wells are sounds unknown." 



MRS. SUSAX HUNTINGTON. 63 

TO MRS. W., OF KILLINGWORTH, CONN. 

Boston, July lo, ISlx!. 

I need not tell you, my dear sister^, that the 
melancholy tidings of your beloved husband's death, 
communicated in my father's letter of the sixth, 
were very unexpected and distressing. You know 
too well the peculiar attachment I have always felt 
for you, to make such a declaration necessary. Yet 
my feelings constrain me to try to console you, by 
endeavouring to express how much I feel for you, 
how tenderly I sympathise with you. Dear S., I 
feel that human friendships are all insufficient to 
soothe grief like yours, I can only bid you raise 
your eye and your heart to Him who has inflicted 
the wound. Remember that not a sparrov/ falleth 
to the ground vrithout his notice; much more then 
must we feel that man's appointed time is in his 
hand. And, my dear sister, shall v*e complain of 
God9 Is not his time the best time9 Has he not a 
right to dispose of his creatures as he sees fit? Shall 
not the Judge of all the earth do right? Oh, yes. 
Let us bow with submission to his will, and ascribe 
righteousness to our Maker. I doubt not this sol- 
emn providence seems dark and inexplicable; but, 
I conjure you, have no hard thoughts of the blessed 
Jehovah. All his ways are perfect, are merciful. 
He afflicts, not for his own pleasure, but for our 
profit. And if, by this mournful dispensation, you 
are brought to realize that we are probationers for a 
future state, that this is but a short journey (we 
know not how short) to an interminable existence; if 
you are led to prepare for death; if you are made 
more like God, and more meet for his presence; 



f * The lady addressed was a child of the same mother, but not of the- 
' same father. Mrs. Mansfield's first husband was tlie immediate pred- 
ecessor of Mr. Mansfield in the pastoral office in the first church in 
, Killing worth. 



I 



04 ME3I0IRS OF 

will you not have reason to rejoice'? The desire I 
have that this end may be answered, is unutterable. 
Pray, strive, wrestle, that, w^hen it shall come your 
turn, the awful message may not find you unprepar- 
ed. God forbid that this should be the case! 

And now, my dear sister, let me once more beg 
you to cast your burden on the Lord. Do you fea^- 
for the little children'? "I w^ill preserve them alive," 
i^nys our merciful God. Do you fear for yourself? 
^Let your widows trust in me," says the same al- 
mighty and gracious Being. None ever did, none 
ever shall, trust Him, in vain. Go to him, and 
say, 'Here am I, Lord! cast dow^n, but not destroyed; 
hold thou me up, and I shall be safe: subdue, con- 
secrate and sanctify to thyself, this life, and these 
members, w hich have, too long, and too devotedly, 
been the servants of the w^orfd!' Remember your 
mercies. Many, my dear sister, are left in circum- 
stances of w^ant and wretchedness, as w^ell as of sorrow; 
but God has mercifully supplied all your temporal 
necessities. Iliope this wall find you resigned: free 
from grief it will not find you, it should not; Jesus 
wept at Lazarus' grave. 

And now' I must bid you adieu. Dear sister, you 
have our sympathy and our prayers. God bless you, 
and make you one of his dear children; and their all 
things shall work together for your good. 

July 22. Yesterday my little son appeared very 
sick. I w^as aw^ake with him most of the night, and 
was apprehensive of two disorders, one in conse- 
quence of a bad fall, the other the effect of having 
been exposed to an infectious disease. But, blessed 
be my gracious Lord, he has disappointed me. In- 
stead of putting the cup of mourning into my hand, 
he has dissipated all my fears, and caused me to re- 
joice in his sparing mercy. My heart failed me. 
I thought I should sink under the affliction of a sep- 
aration from my child; not because God had not a 



MRS. SUSAN HrNTIXGTON. 65 

perfect right to do what he pleased with his own, 
but from the extreme natural sensibility of my dis- 
position, which is my snare. But I must, I desire 
to, trust my blessed God; believing that, when I am 
called to trials of this, or any other kind, he will 
-support me; and if he holds m.e up, I shall be safe. 

2o. I have great reason to be humbled before God, 
for the improper emotions I experienced to-day, on 
account of the imputation, to my husband, of a certain 
trifling error, which imputation I thought unjust. I 
called it, at the time, a wound of my feelings; but, 
on reflection, I believe it was a v»ound of my pride. 
And, what is worse, I fear that, by yielding to my 
sinful desire of mentioning it to him, I may have 
disaffected him toward the offender. Mav God ^ive 
are the sorrow I ought to feel, and teach me in low- 
liness of mind to esteem others better than myself. 

August 11. Oh. how miserable I should be, could 
I not repair to an unchanging God! In Jehovah's 
love, I find a never-failing spring of comfort. Disap- 
pointed in the creature, vrhat should I do without 
my x\lmighty friend? And how good is it in him, 
thus to embitter my earthly cistern, that I may not 
sit and sip, to my everlasting regret and destruction! 
It is thy hand, it is thy hand, dear Lord; and I bless 
thee. Return, therefore, my soul, unto thy only 
sure rest. Oh God, thou adorable, thou perfect 
Being, may my spirit spring forward with delight to 
thy bosom as its re>tmg-place, its covert from the 
storm! And shall I never, never, thus fly to thee, but 
when disappointed, and driven away from the crea- 
ture.^ Then come disappointments: come any thing, 
every thing; and let God be all and in all, to my 
wa}'ward soul! 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. L. 

Aii^ust 20, 1812. 

I am not in a mood very well adapted to dissipate 
,«r enliven solitude this evening; and I write, more 
6* 



66 MEMOIRS OF 

to let you know I think of you, than any thing else. 
t have seen something so like war to-day, that I 
cannot get rid of the gloom it has thrown over my 
spirits. A regiment of soldiers, with a large number 
of baggage waggons, passed through the streets, just 
before Ave went into church this afternoon, on their 
way to Albany, it is said. The confused noise of 
fifes and drums, heavy cannon, and loaded wag- 
gons, combined with the various sounds of human 
voices, within four yards of the temple of God, and 
on his holy day, was new to my ear, and as painful 
as new. I could not help thinking how many dis- 
tracted countries are continually witnessing similar, 
or worse scenes; and my heart almost fainted at the 
idea of our precious Sabbaths being converted into 
days of blood-shed and death, and our sacred tem- 
ples destroyed, or devoted to the promotion of infi- 
delity and wickedness. We have forfeited our Sab- 
baths, and all our mercies; and it becomes us to take 
heed to ourselves, and ascribe righteousness to our 
Maker. I hope you will remember us at the throne 
of grace, that we may be prepared for all the changes 
vrhicli a^e in God's right hand, and enabled in every 
situation la glorify him. May we evermore be found 
in Him who is a covert from the storm, a very pres- 
ent help in time of trouble! May he take us all into 
his secret chambers, till these calamities are over- 
past. 

TO A FRIEND AT M. 

Boston, August 28; 1812. 

I am glad you are pleased with Miss . She 

is a remarkable instance of the sovereignty of divine 
grace; and her experience is, to my mind, an argu- 
ment of no small weight in favour of those views of 
religion, usually termed evangelical. That the mind 
of a young person should be led, by the influence 
of no external cause, to embrace opinions, which she 



MRS. 3USAX HUNTIXGTOX. (J 4 

had been taught from infancy to reject as absurd, if 
not impious, and to which the whole current of her 
preconceived sentiments and carnal prejudices was 
entirely opposed, can be accounted for on no other 
ground than that she was irresistibly led, in a way 
she knew not. by Him, in whose hand are the hearts 
of all men, and who turneth them as the rivers of 
water are turned. 

You ask me to remember you in my prayers, that 
you may be kept from falling. I trust, my dear girl, 
you are founded on the rock Christ Jesus; and if so, 
you are safe. Christians may indeed, like Peter and 
David, and Thomas, and others, fall into temptations 
and a snare, and against this, we should continually 
watch and pray; if left to themselves, they would 
fall away and perish, and against this they should 
continually watch and pray: but none shall be able 
to pluck tiiem out of the hand of Him who has died 
to redeem them, and pledged himself to raise them 
up at the last day. No; Christ has prayed for them, 
that they may be kept in the Father's name; and 
they may say, Rejoice not over me, O mine enemy^ 
for when I fall, I shall rise again. 

It appears to me, that the charge of licentious- 
ness, so often alleged against the orthodox, is occa- 
sioned bv an uno;odlv world eaoerlv catchino' at those 
slips and falls, which are unallowed and adventitious, 
and which may have been afterwards bewailed with 
many a bitter tear, while the aggregate of their con- 
duct is overlooked. It is not tlie existence, but the 
indulgence, of sin, that proves a professor unsound. 
It is not a single action, but the habit of conduct, 
that determines the character. While a scoffing 
world exultingly spread the news of a professor's 
fall, which he may be lamenting in his closet, with 
no witness but His eye who looketh on the heart, 
are they equally solicitous to report his benevolence, 
his heavenly-mindedness, his disinterestedness, his 
zeal for God, which may form the leading traits in 



68 MEMOIRS OF 

his character? Ah, no. But they forget that we are 
as accountable for principles as for actions, for the 
desire of sin as for the commission of it; and that 
vicious desires, which we fear to indulge, are infi- 
nitely more abominable in the sight of the blessed 
God, than hated and unallowed miscarriages. I do 
not forget that the tree is known by its fruit; and if 
any sin is so common in a professor, as to have be- 
come a habit, it is a dark sign. But these are not 
the sins of which I have been speaking, nor which 
are commonly charged upon professors of evangel- 
ical religion. 

October 2. I have had a very precious exercise 
this evening, for me. God grant it may prove to 
have been genuine! I have, for sometime past, been 
in a very worldly, carnal state, and Jehovah gra- 
ciously chastised me. My trial was, in itself, a small 
one; but it was hard to be borne. One of my domes- 
tics treated me in an unbecoming manner, and, when 
I expostulated Vvitli her, only continued to justify 
herself, and persist in her rudeness. This circum- 
stance led me to realize, how infinitely important it 
is that I should ever tread in the precise path of duty, 
and never turn to the right hand or to the left, lest 
it should bring a reproach on religion. Such a sense 
of my multiform duties, as ahead of a family, and of 
my entire impotence for their performance, rushed 
upon me, that I was almost overwhelmed. But I 
was enabled to go to that precious Saviour, in whom 
there is a supply for my every want. I think I was 
enabled to cast my naked soul upon him for wisdom, 
righteousness, sanctification, and final redemption 
from sin. And oh! what a glorious m.ethod for the 
attainment of strength and faith and grace did it 
appear to me: and how hateful did my lukewarmness 
in his service seem! I only wonder that I was not- a 
thousand times more affected than I was. I think I 
was enabled to pray for the person who misused 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON, 69 

ine, and to feel all enmity taken away, and a sweet 
spirit of forgiveness, and a desire that she should be 
delivered from the bondage of corruption. Indeed, 
it seemed as if I was filled with love for all the world. 
Blessed Redeemer! precious, glorious Pattern! enable 
me to catch something of thy spirit, v/hile sojourning 
in this vale of tears! And may that spirit and its di- 
vine fruits, be consummated in the world of glory! 

TO A FRIEND AT P. 

Boston, December 29, 1812. 

As to progress, dear L., it seems as if there was 
so much to be known, and so much to be done, that 
I sometimes feel that I am hardly to regard myself 
as even a babe in Christ. My knowledge is so im- 
perfect, my faith so unfruitful, my penitence so 
feeble, and even my desires so languishing, that I 
sometimes doubt; but, blessed be God, I never de- 
spair. He who hath established all the ends of 
the earth, holds me up; and thus upheld, I am safe. 
Satan, I know, would rejoice to sift me as wheat; but 
I think I have committed my soul to Him, who w^U 
never suffer his people to be tempted above that they 
are able. You remember the season of conflict I 
endured about two years and four months ago. Nev- 
er shall I forget it. Though my distracted spirit was 
then almost swallowed up vv^ith the terrors of the 
Lord, and an agonizing v»'eight, vvhich may be con- 
ceived, but not described, seemed bearing me down 
to the blackness of darkness forever; yet He, whose 
province it is to bring good out of evil, appeared for 
me, and said unto me, 'Live.' Whether I was a 
Christian then or not. or whether I am one now, I 
cannot say with certainty, God alone knoweth the 
heart. But I have a comfortable hope that the Lord 
has begun, and is carrying on, his work in my soul. 
I think my spiritual perceptions are clearer than they 
ever were before. The attributes of Jehovah, the 



70 MEMOIRS OF 

extent and reasonableness of the divine law, the equi- 
ty and wisdom of the divine administration, the plan 
of redemption, the character of the Saviour, &c., are^ 
I think, increasingly known, and increasingly re- 
joiced in. I remember when I could talk about these 
things; I dare not say I did not feel them in a degree; 
but I felt them not as now. This leads me to distrust 
myself; for, if I once thought I felt so much more 
than I really did, there is reason to fear that I now 
feel, in no measure proportionably to the worth and 
importance of divine things. And thus I am driven 
to the omniscient God, to try me and prove me, to 
empty me from vessel to vessel, and do with me 
what seemeth to him good; taking his infallible word, 
that I shall know, if I follow on to know the Lord. 
To him be all the glory, now and forever. 

TO MISS L., AT CHARLESTON, S. C. 

Boston, January 5, 1813. 

We are all well; and all things go on well. We only 
wonder, that mercies so great should not constrain 
us to unremitted devotedness to the service of Him, 
from whom cometh every good and perfect gift. 
When I think, in particular, who it is that has borne 
up my feet from the way to death, and prevented 
me from going down to everlasting burnings, and 
put me, as I humbly hope, in the path of glory, 
honour and eternal life, it seems as if my ingratitude 
could be surpassed by nothing, except the forbearance 
of Him, whom it offends. But, though we may re- 
joice, how much reason have we to rejoice with 
trembling? "The heart is deceitful above all things, 
and desperately wicked." Here is our misery. "I, 
the Lord, search the heart; I try the reins." Here 
is our remedy. And, were it not for this, we might 
all sit down in despair of ever knowing ourselves. 
But it is delightful to be able to commit our souls 
into the hands of One, who knows what manner of 



SIRS, SUSAN HUNTINGTON, *?1 

spirit we are of, and is able to mould us into a con- 
formity to his own glorious image. 

I suppose you are obliged, in your present situa- 
tion, to associate more with the gay world than you 
could wish. But God is able to bring good out of 
evil. Perhaps the necessity of mixing with the 
thoughtless and worldly, may teach you to feel more 
the importance of living near to God, obtaining 
strength from him, watching unto prayer, lest you 
fall into temptation, and maintaining good w^orks^ 
than you would do in a less exposed situation. New- 
ton, you remember, thought "the few chosen ones 
in London, the brightest" jewels in the kingdom." 
No doubt a similar remark may be made with refer- 
ence to other large towns. I think that a formal 
spirit of frigid morality among all classes, and an 
indiscriminate incorporation of such a spirit into the 
church, when nothing is said against religion, and 
its professors can scarcely be distinguished from the 
wood, hay, and stubble around them, is a condition 
of society much more hostile to the genius of Chris- 
tianity, and its influence on the minds of men, than a 
state of looser morals on the one hand, and of firmer 
faith and zeal, and greater spirituality, on the other. 

January 22. When I hear females, as I some- 
times do, deprecating the contractedness of domes- 
tic life, and eagerly panting after the employments 
and publicity of philosophers, statesmen and legis- 
lators, I am led to think that my life, in the little 
sphere of my family, must be more varied than 
theirs, or they could not consider the duties of the 
domestic circle as unimportant, or devoid of excite- 
ments. It is true, if the meed to be obtained were 
mere human applause, the female part of the world 
Avould have but little opportunity to shine; and 
might justly complain of the narrowness of their 
sphere, and the insignificance of their lot. But 
when it is considered that the quality of actions is 



72 MEMOIRS OP 

determined by God, and that, in his view, the per- 
son who tears from his bosom a right hand sin, or 
performs a self-denying duty, is greater than the 
hero or the conqueror, considered only as such; how 
is the case altered^ how does it dignify any station 
which is calculated to produce these effects'? The 
woman, therefore, who complains of the obscurity 
of her condition, feels and talks like a heathen. She 
virtually professes to value the praise of men more 
than the praise of God; and is likely by her impi- 
ety and folly, to forfeit both. In performing the 
duties of private life, no Christian will have reason 
to complain that he has not sufficient excitement to 
duty, or sufficiently numerous calls for the use of 
all his intellectual and moral powers. The various 
and complicated vexations and trials, pains and 
sufferings, privations and disappointments, which 
perpetually occur in the best organized and most 
favoured family, are enough to convince him, that 
there is no time to sleep, that much is to be done, 
and that he has need of all his strength and wisdom 
to decide, and resolve, and act. If the end of all 
that we set ourselves about ought to be to mend the 
heart, (and no Christian will deny that it ought) 
what situation is so favourable for this, as that v/hich 
teaches the soul what are its besetting sins, and 
offers no illusive temptations to self-delusion, no 
poisonous reward to virtues which our consciences 
tell us are defective at the core'? The natural 
effect of public applause is to produce self-ignorance 
and deception, for the standard of morals is ex- 
tremely low and defective in the world; and the 
popular man will give himself credit for virtues 
which, either are worthless in the sight of God, or 
he does not possess. How awful, when death shall 
turn him from the decisions of a world blind and 
partial, to Him who looketh on the heart! Oh, that 
in humility of mind, I may ever prefer that condi- 
tion which leads me to the most intimate know- 



•vmS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 73 

ledge of myself! that I may be enabled to profit by 
such a knowledge, and rejoice to become nothing 
that God may be all in all. 

February 7. There is scarcely any subject con- 
cerning which I feel more anxiety, than the proper 
education of my children. It is a difficult and deli- 
cate subject; and the more I reflect on my duty to 
them, the more I feel how much is to be learnt by 
myself. The person who undertakes to form the 
infant mind, to cut off the distorted shoots, and 
direct and fashion those which may, in due time, 
become fruitful and lovely branches, ought to possess 
a deep and accurate knowledge of human nature. It 
is no easy task to ascertain, not only the principles 
and habits of thinking, but also the causes which 
produce them. It is no easy task, not only to 
watch over actions, but also to become acquainted 
with the motives which prompted them- It is no 
easy task, not only to produce correct associations, 
but to remove improper ones, which may, through the 
medium of those nameless occurrences to which 
children are continually exposed; have found a place 
in the mind. But such is the task of every mother 
who superintends the education of her children. 
Add to this the difficulty of maintaining that uni- 
form and consistent course of conduct w^hich children 
ought always to observe in their parents, and which 
alone can give force to the most judicious discipline: 
and, verily, every considerate person must allow, 
that it is no small matter to be faithful in the em- 
ployment of instructors of infancy and youth. Not 
only must the precept be given. Love not the world: 
but the life must speak the same. Not only must 
we exhort our infant charge to patience under their 
little privations and sorrows, but we must also prac- 
tice those higher exercises of submission which, they 
will easily perceive, are but the more vigorous 
branches of the same root whose feeble twigs they are 
required to cultivate. Not only must .we entreat 
7 



^4 MEMOIRS OF 

them to seek first the kingdom of God, but we must 
be careful to let them see, that we are not as easily 
depressed by the frowns, or elated by the smiles, 
of the world, as others. In short, nothing but the 
most persevering industry in the acquisition of ne- 
cessary knowledge, the most indefatigable applica- 
tion of that knowledge to particular cases, the most 
decisive adherence to a consistent course of piety, 
and, above all, the most unremitted supplications to 
Him who alone can enable us to resolve and act cor- 
rectly, can qualify us to discharge properly the duties 
which devolve upon every mother. 

March 28. Kow often do I exclaim with the 
Psalmist, would to God it were with his spirit!) 
'^Oh that my v/ays were directed to keep thy stat- 
utes!" I resolve, and re-resolve, yet live the same. 
I find myself so often erring on the very point, with 
respect to which I meant to have been particularly 
guarded, that I am, sometimes, almost tempted to sit 
down in despair. Am.ong the greatest of my trials is a 
natural warmth of disposition, which hurries me on, 
even in those things which are right in themselves, 
so that I am not able to proportion my feeling in any 
proper degree to the importance of the occasion which 
has excited it. Oh, for grace to judge correctly with 
regard to the path of duty, and with firmness and 
fidelity unwaveringly to pursue it! 

May 15. How many trials are continually oc- 
curring to remind us that this is not our rest! There 
are a variety of evils which embitter life that do not 
deserve the name of afflictions; and their end is to 
induce us to look to tha.t perfect state which is to be 
revealed. I have this day been wounded in my 
feelings, by unintentionally wounding the pride of a 
fellow-worm. My remark should not have affected 
him thus; it was innocent and true. But such is our 
frailty, and I ought to be neither offended nor sur- 
prised. Oh, for that charity which sufTereth long 
9.nd is kind, is not easily provoked, and seeketh 



I 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON* iO 

not her own! Then would none of these things 
move me. 

21. For a few days past I have felt myself more 
than usually influenced, by a spn*it of vain-glory 
and pride of human applause^ to the performance of 
right actions. How little disinterestedness of motive 
am I conscious of possessing? And may not that 
little be imaginary? I am particularly deficient in 
humility, that precious grace. Oh, that I might see 
more of the plague of my own heart, and mourn! 
But I am ignorant, knowmg nothing yet, scarcely, as 
I ouojht to know. The next sabbath our communion 
season returns; a season when, in times past^ I have 
been particularly guilty, lifeless and cold. Blessed 
Spirit, take of the things of Christ and shew them 
unto me, and prepare for him an acceptable ofTer- 
ino^ at mv hands! 

24. I have not had time till now to record the 
state of my feelings at the communion yesterday. 
On Saturday evening I had a very interesting season 
for preparation, and think Lin some measure, enjoyed 
it. Sabbath morning I heard a sermon on the per- 
sonality of the Holy Spirit. It was, as discussed, a 
delightful subject, and my heart, I trust, felt some- 
thing of warmth and spirituality. The communion 
was a very precious season. Though I perhaps 
felt no more than marij Christians generally feel 
on these occasions, yet it Vv^as something for which 
I desire to be thankful to Him who is the Au- 
thor and the Finisher of faith. I had not more 
joy than I have often had when attending that or- 
dinance; but my exercises were more satisfactory 
than usual. If I am not deceived, I vras enabled 
more sincerely, to renounce every idol, and take 
Christ for my portion, to renounce my own will 
and surrender myself to his disposal, than ever I did 
before. Particularly I desired that my inordinate 
attachment to my children might be crucified, and 
my love to God be more supreme; and felt as if 



G 



MEMOIRS OF 



I did cast myself on him for the supply of my 
wants. I felt as if I could go on in the strength of 
the Lord, and trust in him to carry me through all 
that is before me. It seemed as if I had some fee- 
ble emanations of the same spirit which caused the 
apostle to exclaim., ''Neither count I my life dear 
unto myself, so that I might finish my course with 
joy." And I think I felt a spirit of love for my 
fellow professors, and a desire that we all, after hav- 
ing received Christ Jesus the Lord, might walk in 
him. 

June 4. Yesterday I went to the meeting at Mrs. 
M.'s^ as usual, but was in a very stupid frame. I 
did not feel a sense of the divine presence, or 
scarcely any desire to seek it. In the night I awoke 
about two o'clock; and was led, first, to reflect on 
my insensibility the preceding day; and then on 
the sufficiency of Christ to atone for my sins, and 
strengthen me for future duty. I did not have as 
deep a sense of my guilt as I desired; but I seemed 
to feel sensibly what I ought to be — that I ought 
to live for God, that I ought to maintain a constant 
spirit of prayer, for myself, my children, and this 
miserable world; and it seemed as if I could get up 
and go to vv'ork, to some purpose, about my Master's 
business. Oh, it is delightful to feel as if the first 
wish of our hearts was to fulfil the great purpose of 
our existence, as if we had caught something of the 
spirit of the heavenly world, and desired principally 
to be, and do, and suffer, just what God pleases. 

I think I scarcely ever saw more fitness in Christ 
for the peculiar offices he sustains than at this time. 
It appeared to me as if his having taken our nature 
upon him, and experienced the weakness of the 
flesh, rendered him peculiarly fit to be applied to by 
us for help. He seemed to me indeed a glorious 

* A stated female prayer meeting established in 1741, and contin' 
ued to the present time.' See Memoirs of Mrs. Abigail W^aters, by the 
Kev. Joshua tluntington. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. i i 

High Priest, in whom dwelleth all the fuhiess of the 
Godhead, and therefore able to succor us; who 
knoweth our frame and is touched with a feeling of 
our infirmities, and therefore willing to afford us all 
necessary aid. 

How little do we know of the glorious truths of 
the Gospel! How sweet are the faint glimpses of 
divine things which God sometimes gives us! I 
think I long to know more, because I know enough 
to know that all beyond is glorious, glorious. Ohj 
for some emanations of the divine glory to change 
me into the same image! 

11. I am quite out of spirits this afternoon. I 
am discouraged, and think I shall never do my 
duty, and feel as if I am not prepared for the trials 
which await me. Yet I am surrounded with 
mercies, and my life ought to be a life of gratitude. 
My impatience under the gentle rebukes of my 
heavenly Father, grieves me to the heart, and greatly 
diminishes my evidence of possessing that faith 
which works by love. I think I long to do my duty. 
This body of sin and death is a burden. If sin must 
dwell in my mortal body, I do pray that it may not 
reign there, but, like the Canaanites that were left 
among the children of Israel, occasion greater watch- 
fulness, and a deeper sense of dependance on God 
for better evidence that my sorrow for sin is of a 
godly sort. 

If I knew as much as I ought to know of the evil 
of sin, how could I ever complaint no afHictions 
would seem severe. Instead of this impatient, fro- 
ward spirit, all would be calmness and resignation 
within. O God! what I know^ not, teach thou me; 
and make me satisfied and happy, that I and mine 
are in thy hand, as the clay is in the hands of the 
potter. Do not suffer me to murmur, when thou 
layest thy hand on my earthly gourd, but keep me 
in the temper of the Psalmist, when he could say, 
*^Surely I have behaved and quieted mvself as"^a 
^7 



MEMOIRS OF 



child weaned of his mother." Oh, may I be weaned 
from all the hopes and pleasures which God sees fit 
to blight! 

12. Sabbath. I heard a sermon this morning from 
Ps. xvii, 15. "I shall be satisfied, when I awake, 
with thy likeness." The topics chiefly dwelt upon, 
were, the glories of the heavenly state, and the con- 
solations extended to believers by the Gospel, in 
prospect of a departure from the present world. I 
reflected that it might, be the last sabbath I should 
be permitted to spend in the earthly courts of the 
Most High; and the thought was not attended with 
those sensations which it sometimes occasions. 
Formerly the idea of a separation from the body was 
painful; and I feared I was not sufficiently humbled, 
to rejoice in being nothing in heaven, that God might 
be all in all. I was conscious of so much pride, and 
self-seeking, that it clouded my evidence of meetness 
for that world, where the loftiest seraph derives his 
happiness principally from the contemplation and 
disinterested love of the character and glory of God. 
Oh that a deceived heart may not turn me aside, that 
I cannot deliver my soul! Teach me what I am. 
Father of lights! lest I perish. 

15. I was yesterday morning prevented from 
spending as much time as usual in private devotion, 
and was depressed in spirits all day. Every thing 
looked dark; and I yielded to a superstitious presen- 
timent of evil, as far removed from piety as from 
comfort. I believe the gloomy forebodings we some- 
times indulge, dishonour God, as well as distress our- 
selves, and are a great hindrance in discharging the 
duties of life. Superstition and religion are at an 
infinite remove from each other. The one tends to 
terror, gloom, and despondency; the other to seren- 
ity, cheerfulness, and confidence in God. A spirit 
of bondage is the handmaid of superstition, a spirit 
of filial love and hope, the handmaid of religion. 
Satan often fills the soul with a thousand dark and 



IVIRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 79 

dismal apprehensions, on purpose to destroy its con- 
fidence in God and deprive it of peace. Such sug- 
gestions ought to be strenuously resisted. 

To-day I have been in a happier frame. I had in 
the morning an uninterrupted and good season for 
secret prayer; and, as usual, I have experienced the 
benefit of it through the day. Nothing has a more 
pernicious influence on my spiritual state, than being- 
deprived of opportunity for private devotion. When 
I begin the day with God, I am usually strengthened 
for its duties and trials. How little have I valued, 
how little improved, my precious privileges, in com- 
parison with what I should have done. 

16. Oh that I might groan, being burdened with 
the load of sin which I constantly carry v/ith me! 
I have felt not a little impatience in endeavouring to 
subdue a peevish humour in my child. How little 
effect can admonition or correction have, when it 
is not administered in a suitable temper, and accom- 
panied with a proper example. Impatience in the 
parent, must strengthen, rather than eradicate, fret- 
fulness in the child; for he will easily perceive that 
you require of him, what you do not practise your- 
self I am sometimes almost discouraged. And 
shall I sit down in despair? Father of mercies, 
strengthen the poor impotent creature whose only 
hope is in thee: 

21. I was enabled, in secret prayer this morning, 
to plead, with some degree of fervour, and I hope, 
in faith, for my dear children. May I be enabled 
to continue wrestling mightily with God for them, as 
one that hath power with hun to prevail. May I be 
enabled to lay up for them a stock of acceptable 
prayers, to be answering when I am in the dust! Oh 
that, having been the instrument of their natural, I 
may be the blessed instrument of their spiritual life! 
Why were they given me, but that I might train them 
up for God? This blessed hope sustains and com- 
forts me. What an honour to prepare gems for the 



so MEMOIRS OF 

Redeemers crown! And shall my expectations be 
bliglxted? God forbid. Oh that every breath might 
be a breath of prayer! Holy Spirit, quicken my 
slug2!:ish soul. 

22. Nature shrinks at the prospect of suffering. 
But I can endure all things, if God is with me. In 
general, I am supported by the persuasion that I have 
given myself to my Father in heaven, to dispose of 
me as he sees fit; and I know he will do all things 
w^ell. If I am called to great trials, I trust he Vvill 
give me great grace to endure them; if to great du- 
ties, great grace to perform them. I think I am 
principally anxious that I may not be so rebellious as 
to find fault with his dispensations, but may lie low 
before my Almighty Sovereign, in a spirit of child- 
like and loving submission, always exclaiming. Good 
is the word of the Lord, let him do for me, and by 
me, and with me, according to his righteous pleas- 
ure; only let me not be accounted an enemy, let me 
not be found opposing the cause of God and the 
best interests of his kingdv^m. 

If I am not deceived, the character of Jehovah 
appears to me glorious and lovely. What a sweet 
delineation of it is given in the 145th Psalm. I 
think I desire to do more for my Maker and Redeem- 
er than I have heretofore done. I am ashamed of 
my past life; it has been wasted, wasted. How im- 
perfectly have I answered the great purposes of my 
existence! What vanities have occupied my time, 
what bubbles engrossed my pursuit! Oh for grace to 
live while I pretend to live' May the love of Christ 
henceforth constrain me to walk in newness of life. 

28. What have I to say for myself; my gratitude, 
my improvement? Alas! I find I am the same poor 
short-coming creature still. On God's part, my soul 
bears testimony, all is mercy; his promises are sweet; 
and he is a God at hand, and not afar oil'. But how 
treacherous is my heart' how unfruitful my life! Oh 
for faith more constantly to hope in God; for grace 



SIRS.. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 81 

more to love, better to serve, him! These are not, 
if I know my own heart, mimeaning phrases. I do, 
I think, thirst for conformity to God. He is per- 
fectly lovely. God, the Father, Son, and Holy 
Ghost, in their united, and in their distmct characters 
and offices, appear excellent and glorious; and my 
poor soul longs to mourn over its unlikeness to their 
blessed image. Appear for me, O thou hope of my 
soul. 



TO MISS L., AT CHARLESTON, S. C. 

Boston, August o, 1813. 

Ho^v much do we lose by setting up the Dagon of 
our own selfish desires, in opposition to the will of 
God. Dear M., let us wrestle and strive to feel a 
perfect confidence in the integrity and uprightness 
of His government, who disposes of all things, 
according to his sovereign pleasure, not only with 
regard to the universe at large, but with regard to 
us individually. It is a blessed exhortation, ^-Trust 
in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not to 
thine own understanding." May our hearts ever 
respond, Lord, we Vv^ill trust in thee, for thou art 
faithfulness and truth, thy throne is established in 
righteousness; good and upright is the Lord, there- 
fore will he teach sinners in the way. I fear to say I 
long to love him. for my desires are so feeble and 
languid, compared Avith what they ought to be, that 
they hardly deserve the name; but I do long to hate 
the vile, dishonourable ingratitude which prevents 
my loving him more. Pray for me, that I may not 
mistake the sparks of my own kindling, for the light 
of heaven; but that I may be so transformed into the 
divine likeness, as to be able to say. Truly, O Lord^ 
I am thy servant. 

Your letter was a great comfort to me. I trust my 
dear brother died in the faith and hope of the Gos- 
pel. His patience under his severe sufferings, his 



82 



MEMOIRS OF 



consciousness of the faint proportion which they 
bore to the desert of his sins, and the deep interest 
he took in the eternal welfare of those about him, 
furnished pleasing evidence that he had been born 
again. When I learned the favourable state of his 
mind, it took away the sting of death, and I had not 
a desire to recal him. On the contrary, it seemed 
as if the language of my heart ought to be, and in 
some poor degree was. Bless the Lord, O my soul! 

August 5. I have, some days past, been rather 
weak and debilitated, and, at times, considerably 
depressed in spirits. Death has appeared distressing 
to me. I have been too anxious to live. My heart 
is drawn out in love to my poor fellow worms, who 
have been the mere instruments by which God has 
conveyed his mercies to my soul; vv^hile my heavenly 
Benefactor, the source of all I enjoy and all I need, 
has been forgotten. Oh my leanness, my leanness! 

I think I had some life in prayer this evening, 
some feelings of satisfaction at being in the hands 
of God for life and death. I think the employments 
of heaven seemed sweet to me, and a place at God's 
right-hand desirable, as a release from this bondage 
of corruption, under which I desire continually to 
groan. Thou Searcher of hearts, teach me what I 
am! And oh! bear up my fainting spirit, amidst all 
the trials and temptations which beset me, in my 
journey through the wilderness of this world, so 
that I may not dishonour thee by impatience, des- 
pondency, and unbelief! Dear Saviour, I long to 
see thee with the eye of faith! Unbelief throws her 
mist over my souh and I grovel in darkness. Shine 
into my heart, and give me the light of the knowl- 
edge of thy glory! 



I 



1 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 83 

TO A FRIEND IN BOSTON. 

New London, September 2, 1813. 

As I know it will be gratifying to you to hear of 
our w^elfare, I embrace this early opportunity to in- 
form you of it. The first and second days of our 
journey, were very unpleasant. On Wednesday 
night w^e reached, very much to our satisfaction, 
the welcome habitation of our parents. 

How refreshing is rest, after the fatigues of a 
journey! How comfortable is home, after having 
been wandering, for days, or weeks, among strangers! 
Could we, my dear H., feel about spiritual, as we do 
about temporal things, sweet indeed would be the 
prospect of leaving our earthly house of this taber- 
nacle, and entering into that eternal habitation, that 
habitation of rest, that remaineth for the people of 
God! 

Could we but climb where Moses stood; 
And view the landscape o'er, 

could we feel that our souls w^ere prepared for the 
employments and the joys of the heavenly world, 
hov/ pleasant would be the thought, that the hours 
which must intervene, before we enter the promised 
land, are so rapidly passing away! May we, my dear 
girl, be enabled so to work out our salvation, so to 
stand like those who wait for the coming of their 
Lord, as to rejoice, at the end of our course, in ail 
admission to those mansions which Jesus has gone 
to prepare, in his Father's house, for them that love 
liini. That life is best spent which has continually 
this end for its object. 

October 3. Since last waiting in this Journal, 
[Aug. 5,] I have experienced a variety of changes 
both in situation and feeling. Soon after that date 
I went to Bridgewater for my health, and was a 



84 MEMOIRS OF 

good deal cast down, and, I fear, unreconciled to 
the divine will respecting me. The thought of leav- 
ing my husband and children was very distressing, 
A cloud of darkness hid the divine countenance from 
my soul, and I walked in the gloom of midnight. 
One communion season was allowed me while there; 
but I did not enjoy it; and all the afternoon, I was 
seeking after an absent God. My mind was greatly 
distressed. It appeared to me that an idolatrous 
attachment to the creature, and an extreme desire 
to live, were the separating sins between God and 
my soul; and I was afraid that, at the last, I should 
be found wanting. One great cause of anxiety w^as, 
lest, when I should become sick unto death, I should 
be left to those turns of gloom and despair to which 
I have been subject from infancy; and thus manifest 
my want of the graces of faith and love, and bring a 
i'eproach upon religion. 

Never was there so impotent, so weak a creature 
as I. Truly I am crushed before the moth. If I 
ever endure hardness as a good soldier of the cross, 
all the glory will, plainly, be the Lord's. If I am 
called to endure affliction, and am not swallowed up 
with overmuch sorrow, it will evidently be the 
strength of God alone that sustains me; and I do 
think I shall not, I cannot, be so ungrateful as to 
forget the merciful and powerful hand that has up- 
held me. O God, have pity on thy poor worm, who 
shrinks at the slightest blast; and let thine own 
power rest upon m.e! Then indeed shall my infirm- 
ity be my glory. 

10. I am again called to write in a chamber of 
sickness. On the 4th, I took a severe cold, and have 
ever since been confined. My mmd was, at first, 
in a comfortable frame; but on Friday, I felt greatly 
distressed on account of my rebellious disposition. 
When in health I think I can say. Thy will be done; 
but, as soon as there appears to be danger of being 
called from life, I feel that I am far from the spirit 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 85 

Avhich these words express. One of my domestics 
has also been taken sick, and obliged to go away. 
I feel that my chastisements are just. God has been 
dealing with me for my sins. 

I have been deprived of the privilege of attending 
the communion to-day. I hope to be humbled by 
it. My gracious Lord, I think, did lead me to 
plead with him for those spiritual provisions, of 
w^hich the provisions of his table are the symbols. 
i think I felt my will more bowed, and a greater de- 
sire to relinquish every idol, than at any time before. 
God grant I may not be deceived! Oh, that I may 
henceforward live as a pilgrim and a stranger on the 
earth; that I may not be so dismayed v> hen I have 
reason to apprehend death may be near! I must be 
more frequent in the practice of self-examination; a 
duty I have much neglected, chiefly because I have 
found it so difficult to perform it without distraction; 
a fact that should have had just the contrary influ- 
ence, exciting me to more frequent and strenuous 
endeavours to perform it aright. O God, lead me 
into the knowledge of myself, and guide me in the 
way everlasting! 

13. This has been a public day. When I saw 
the multitudes flocking to see the parade, &c. I 
could not help reflecting, how much more I enjoyed 
in my sick chamber, than they possibly could in 
such futile pleasures. And if I, who am less than 
the least of all saints, enjoy so much, what must 
those who continually live near to God enjoy? Those 
lines of Pope, 

One self-approving hour wliole years outweighs, 
Of stupid sturers and of loud huzzas, 

came into my mind; and, though I do not altogether 
agree with him in the spirit of tlie passage, presum- 
ing that he refers to a satisfactory consciousness of 
rectitude before the Deity, yet there is a sweet 
peace arising from the humble hope that our conduct 
8 



86 • MEMOIRS OF 

is in some good measure regulated by the standard of 
the Gospelj and that our aim is universal obedience. 
This peace is unspeakably consolitory. Such a peace 
it is that Jesus has left to his disciples, a peace 
founded on evidence of that faith in Christ which 
justifies the soul before God, purifies us from dead 
works, and leads us in newness of spirit to serve the 
living God. 

25. ¥/hat a delicate office is that of a mother! 
How wary should be her footsteps, how spotless her 
example, how uniform her patience, how^ extensive 
her knowledge of the human heart, how great her 
skill in using that knowledge, by the most vigilant 
and strenuous application of it in every variety of 
occurring circumstances, to enlighten the under- 
standing and reform the heart! Legislators and 
governors have to enact laws, and compel men to 
observe them; mothers have to implant the princi- 
ples, and cultivate the dispositions, which alone 
can make good citizens and subjects. The former 
have to exert authority over characters already 
formed; the latter, have to mould the character of 
the future man, giving it a shape which will make 
him, either an instrument of good to the world, or 
a pest in the lap of society. Oh, that a constant; 
sense of the importance and responsibility of this; 
station may rest upon me! that grace may be given] 
me faithfully to discharge its difRcult duties! 

30. I have been thinking of those words of JameSy 
*-rf any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, thatj 
giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and 
it shall be given him. But let him ask in faith 
nothing wavering." I believe Christians are often 
lean from day to day, because, though they ask for 
grace, they do not ask in faith. I sometimes feel so; 
little and so vile, thatljfear^Godvvill disdain to helf^ 
me. But I am always unhappy when I am in suci 
a frame. Surely the God who gave me a spirit] 
capable of loving and serving him; cannot esteem if 



3ms. SUSAX HrNTIXGTON. hi 

beneath him to regard niy cry, when I plead that 
my soul may be fitted for his service. I fear I in- 
dulge too much in a spirit of bondage, which gen- 
erates gloom, terror, superstition, and despair. I am 
always happiest when I can view God as a merciful 
Creator who is more ready to give spiritual than 
temporal blessings, and has given us every encour- 
agement we can desire to trust in him. The idea 
that God is not willhig to help m.e, that he is a hard 
master, that I have not obtained and shall never ob- 
tain his grace, or any similar discouraging thought, 
paralyzes my exertions, throws a superstitious terrour 
over my soul, which drives me from prayer, and un-- 
fits me for every duty. I must believe that, though 
the vision tarry, it is my duty to wait for it. 
Yes, my soul, wait at wisdom's gate, and thou shall 
not be disappointed. Though thy sins discourage 
thee, and thy worldly attachments alarm thee, wait 
upon that Jesus who was never called upon in vain. 

my God, glory be to thy name, that I can hope 
in thy mercy, and believe that thou wilt one day 
bruise Satan under my feet, and give me a complete 
and final victory! I beseech thee let me not be de- 
ceived! 

31. I have been very much tried to-night with 
skeptical and unbelieving thoughts. Oh, that I may 
be brought out of the horrible pit, and the miry 
clay; that I may bewail these things, not merely as 
a calamity, but also as a sin! It is a hard confiict. 

1 hope I shall be enabled to wait upon God and not 
faint. I feel that I am blind and ignorant. God 
grant this trial may be the forerunner of more glori- 
ous manifestations than any I have received. Yet 1 
do think the religion of Christ seems to me a glorious 
religion, a religion worthy of an all-perfect God, a 
religion embracing principles more elevated, motives 
more noble and powerful, of a tendency more holy 
and desirable, than the heart of man could have 
conceived. Yes, my faithless, treacherous soul! it 



88 MEMOIRS OF 

is the truth of God. I can, I do^ stake upon it my 
everlasting all. 

JVovemher 5. What a great, what a blessed thing, 
to be a Christian indeed! Surely, after evidence of 
having attained this glorious character I do pant and 
strive. I would rather be a Christian than the 
monarch of the world. That blessed name em- 
braces and supposes principles more elevated, and 
joys more exalted, than ail other names combined. 
Men may talk of honour, of integrity, and of moral 
rectitude; they may dream of pleasure, and follow^ 
the phantom till they die; but the Christian alone 
possesses dispositions calculated to make us either 
truly good or truly happy. So long as man is su- 
premely bent on his own interests, his morality 
must be defective. None but a principle embracing 
universal good, and loving supremely what is su- 
premely excellent, will do for creatures formed for 
happiness; for in loving ourselves supremely, we 
love what is infinitely unlovely; and in seeking our 
own interest as our highest end, we virtually take 
up arms against all that is excellent in the universe. 
Oh, for the precious spirit of the Gospel, which makes 
us willing to be nothing ourselves, that God may be 
all in all. 

14. How kind, how good, is God! How merci- 
fully has he removed all my complaints, and given 
me, once more, health and strength! I am amazed 
at my ingratitude. How little dependance can be 
placed on death-bed repentance. In my own ex- 
perience, how much have I seen of the evanes- 
cent nature of resolutions formed in seasons of 
sickness. Alas! it is my grief, that a return of 
health brings a return of cares; and, in the whirlpool 
of necessary employments for the poor body, God 
and my soul are almost forgotten. Why is my 
heart so treacherous, so prone to leave the centre of 
all my hopes, the God in whose hand my breath is, 
and whose are all my ways^ I long to weep, and 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 89 

weep away this heart of stone, and to honour God 
by the steady exercise of all the graces of the Spirit. 
Oh, for a vigorous and overcoming faith! Oh, for 
grace to live ^bove the w^orld. — On reviewing the 
past week, how little have I done of the great Vv ork 
for which I was sent into the world! I have said 
something for God; but have I done any thing for 
liim'? and were my motives pure in what I said'? How 
much strange fire has been mixed with my best 
duties! I should lie down in despair, had not God 
laid help on One mighty to save. 

17. I think I have, this evening, some feeble desires 
after God. It does seem, that I am growing in the 
knowledge of my own heart, and seeing more of the 
preciousness of the Saviour. Life appears to me to 
be chiefly desirable as a medium of glorifying God; 
and to live to the flesh, even if there Vv ere no differ- 
ence to be made between the righteous and thevvicked 
at death, seems to me undesirable, and, I had almost 
said, (and I ought to be able to say,) hateful. To be 
holy! those blessed words kindle desires in my soul 
inexpressibly more elevated and ardent, and suppose 
joys more delightful and transporting to me, than all 
the combined allurements of the vv^orld. And yet, 
(O, how can it be so^) my sluggish spirit tires and 
faints, in the pursuit of the former, vvhile, till roused 
to a sense of my guilt in doing so, to pursue the 
latter is comparatively easy! Deplorable, criminal 
inconsistency! 

December 5. I have once more been permitted to 
commemorate the dying love of Jesus. Through 
the preparatory exercises, I was troubled with Vv an- 
dering thoughts, and apprehended a barren season. 
I hope, however, it vvas not entirely so. I think \ 
felt my own utter destitution of every good thing, 
and was, in some measure, enabled to apply, as an 
empty sinner, to a full Saviour. I think I saw some- 
thing of the preciousness of the dear Redeemer, and 
had some thankful remembrance of his death, some 
*8 



90 MEMOmS OF 

longing desires to know and love him more, some 
sweet emotions of Christian charity toward my fel- 
low-travellers to the Zion above. I think I longed 
to be enlightened in all Gospel truth, and to be com- 
pletely conformed to the image of Christ, to have my 
soul filled with the love of God. For a few moments 
I felt that it was inexpressibly sweet to be so near 
to God. Bear Jesus! what I know not, teach thou 
me! Carry me safely through the dismal wilderness 
of this world, w hich I am so apt to look upon as my 
home! And, O, how delightful it will be, to sing 
"Worthy is the Lamb," when I arrive at the heaven- 
ly hills where they sit, and celebrate, without weari- 
ness, thy praise! 

17. I have had some precious seasons in prayer, 
since I wrote last. I felt this morning, and a day 
or two since, such a sweet consciousness that I had 
committed my soul into the hands of Jesus, that I 
was almost assured that his grace would always be 
extended to me, and be sufficient for me. I felt that 
my own extreme weakness was no reason for dis- 
tress, for if I was called to great trials, especially to 
bereavements and death, (at the prospect of which 
my fearful soul always trembles) God would surely 
give me necessary aid. But to-night I am so bound 
down by earthly ties, so knit to the creature, that I 
have no spiritual enjoyment. These endearing tem- 
poral connexions; how they wind about my heart, 
aud, by the excess of devotedness which they engage, 
agonize, at the same time that they delight, my soul! 
I am in littl§, or no danger, of falling into the snare 
of dissipation and extravagance; but I am in danger 
from a quarter, perhaps no less alarming, because 
more specious, and glossed over by so many things 
which are really necessary and proper, as almost to 
elude suspicion. Dear Saviour, enable me to crucify 
every inordinate affection; and do thou r^ign su* 
preme in my heart. 



31RS. SUSAN HUNTI^GTO^^ 91 

January 7, 1814. I have had some happy mo- 
ments in committing my guilty and helpless soul 
into the hands of my Redeemer. I feel an unspeak- 
able tranquillity in the belief, that when I am in 
trouble, and need his aid, especially in the hour of 
death, he will remember the trust I have committed 
to him, and appear for me. How infinitely does 
the joy, arising from a strong scriptural hope of union 
to him, outweigh all earthly pleasures combined! 
Oh, yes; religion is the sweetest solace of life. Wheji 
that reigns in the soul, all is harmony and peace. 



TO MISS L. AT CHARLESTON, S. C. 

Boston^ Januarij \6, ISl-i. 

I rejoice to hear of your sister's recovery, 1 
trust she will be enabled to say from the heart. 

My life, which thou hast made thy care,. 
Lord; I devote to thee. 

Surely those who have been brought near to the 
grave, and are unexpectedly restored to health, are 
under special obligations of gratitude and love. And 
it is one of the most awful and convincing proofs of 
our inveterate tendency to sin, that recovering mercy 
so seldom excites those holy and grateful dispositions, 
which we think we shall exercise when pleading for 
deliverance from sickness and death. Yes, dearM. 
we do indeed need line upon line, and precept upon 
precept, and continual supplies of grace, to keep alive 
in our souls the spark of spiritual life. Blessed be 
God, that he will undertake with creatures so per- 
verse, so obstinate, and bring them into the way of 
life, and keep them there, by the unmerited watch- 
fulness of his love, by those kind and merciful dis- 
pensations which we call afflictions. 

When our prospects darken, how^ apt are we 
(o lose all our joys, not reoiembering that, though 



92 MEMOIRS OF 

we change, God abideth faithful? We always have 
cause enough to rejoice and be glad in the Lord, al- 
though we often have cause for nothing but sorrow 
and humiliation in ourselves. But we cannot be 
content to be nothing that God may be all in all. 
Self will riscj and plead for a little gratification. 
Happy are we if a little is all w^e give. 

What is the reason, my dear M., that some 
Christians glorify God so much more than others? 
Is the deficiency of the latter, in this respect, to be 
always and exclusively ascribed to their own negli- 
gence? Nothing seems to me so desirable as to hve 
only to God, to have no will, no interest, no fears, 
no desires, contrary to him. But, alas! instead of 
this, it is only now and then, that I feel in any meas- 
ure that this is my case; while the principal part of 
my time is wretchedly filled up with selfishness and 
sin. But it can do no good to complain to the crea- 
ture. I only mention these things that you may be 
induced constantly to pray that I may be quickened, 
that I may not walk in a vain shew, until the just 
indignation of a holy God sw^eep me away forever. 

Have you read Hannah More's Christian Morals? 
Is it not excellent? How much of Christian knowl- 
edge, and Christian feeling, she manifests'? The essay 
styled "Thy w^iil be done," ought to be engraven on 
every professor's heart. What a mercy it is that 
our lingering steps, our misjudging apprehensions, 
have so many excellent helps! But the best guide of 
all is the Bible. How can w^e estimate the mercy of 
having such a guide always at hand? 

Do you see the Christian Observer? There has 
been in some of the last numbers, a sketch of a 
most interesting debate in the British Parliament 
respecting the propagation of Christianity in India. 
The missionary cause appears to be rapidly advanc- 
ing; the angel, having the everlasting Gospel to 
preach to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and 
people, seems to have commenced his flight. How 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 91 

reviving to know that this cause, of all causes the 
best, is flourishing, especially in that part of the 
world which has hitherto been enveloped in the 
thick darkness of ignorance and sin. Yes, Jesus 
shall reign over all. May the blessed day be hastened! 

23. I wish to record the mercies of the past w^eek, 
as having been singularly great, and affording abun- 
dant encouragement for the future. On Monday, 
Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I was much 
distressed, struggling v^ith a spirit of murmurmg 
and rebellion against the divine will respecting me. 
But on Friday morning I was enabled, in some good 
degree, to lay by my own desires and say, Not as I 
will, but as thou wilt. The prospect of death, should 
God call me to that trial, was sweetened; and I was 
filled with a peace which the w^orld knows not of. 
I cannot but think I shall glorify my Saviour if call- 
ed to pass through the furnace; for it does seem as if 
he is pledged to perfect his strength in my weakness^ 
and display his all-sufliciency in sustaining and car- 
rying me through every conflict. 

February 12. Oh my soul! how pass thy fleeting 
moments? What account canst thou give of thy 
stewardship? Alas! my flesh almost trembles at these 
solemn inquiries. I am alarmed when I remember 
that twenty-three years of my short life are gone. 
And how are they lost, lost, never to be recalled! 
What has been done for God? Oh, that I could weep 
tears of unmin^led sorrow when I answer. Nothing. 
Were I now^ m auful judgment before Him w^ho is 
the Judge of all, and should I hear the heart-rending 
doom of the unprofitable servant pronounced upon 
me, could I say any thing in self-justification? God 
knows I could not. Must I not, may I not, say, to 
I he blessed Jesus, 

Where can I fly but to thy breast; 

For I have sought no other homp; 
For I have known no other rest? 



94 MEMOIRS OF 

24. The situation in which I am placed is veiy 
trying and difficult. I am emphatically like a city 
set on a hill. I am required to exhibit the fruits 
of a full grown tree, when I am but a feeble plant, 
in the garden of the Lord. Impotence itself is not 
more helpless than I am. But I trust I am one of 
those httle ones, whom my Redeemer carries in his 
arms, and cherishes in his bosom. Blessed be his 
name, I have hitherto found him a strong tower. I 
have confided in him, and he has helpedme. Yes, 
many a time have I had reason to set up, like Jacob, 
a memorial of deliverance in the hour of extremity. 
And, though in view of the multifDrm duties of life, 
I exclaim. How am I sufficient for these things? yet 
I must hope, that I shall be enabled to do all things 
through Christ strengthening me. To him be glory 
for ever and ever. Amen. 

26. No one can know the trials of the ministry, 
except those who undertake the arduous employ- 
ment, or those w ho reside in their families. When we 
consider how much clergymen's time is occupied by 
unavoidable company at home, how many special 
meetings, if they are faithful to their Master, they 
must attend, what a large portion of their time is 
occupied with visiting the sick, hov/ much in neces- 
sary preparations for the pulpit, and then, in addition 
to all this, what numbers of parochial visits they are 
required to make, and censured if they do not; it 
must appear obvious that their task is arduous, their 
trials peculiarly great. It is a great trial to be obliged 
to attempt study, when the mind is districted with 
the burden of a whole society. It is a trial to be, as 
it were, compelled to spend that time in visiting, 
which ought to be devoted to writing, and medita- 
tion; and then to be censured for negligent and ill- 
digested sermons; or, if time and pains are taken to 
write good seimons, to be complained of for visiting 
so little. Surely if societies and churches knew the 
trials of their ministers, in addition to those per- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 95 

sonal troubles which are common to all; they would 
be more tender of them, more fervent in prayer for 
them. I do not wonder that so many of the labour- 
ers in the Lord's vineyard faint before mid-day. 
They ought, in every way, to be strengthened, and 
comforted, and encouraged, by their people. 

March 5. I think I can say, from experience, that 
it is good to draw near to God. But language can 
no more convey, to one who has no knowledge of it 
from experience, an idea of the blessedness of com- 
munion with the Father of our spirits, than it can 
of the nature of the light of the sun, to one who was 
born blind. It is indeed ineffable; in comparison 
with it, every earthly joy dwindles into insignifi- 
cance, and becomes light as a puff of empty air. If 
1, who have so little faith, can say so, what must the 
eminent Christian feel? What must the spirits of the 
just made perfect feel? 

I have had much solicitude for my children this 
evening. At one time, such a sense of the everlast- 
ing consequences of the trust committed to me, in 
reference to their immortal souls, rushed upon me, 
as literally made me shudder. I wonder I do not 
realize this more habitually. Oh that God would 
make me faithful, and crown my efforts with his 
blessing! 

TO A FRIEND IN B0ST0>7. 

Bridgeivater, 3Iaixh S, 1814. 

You ask my advice about the correction of chil- 
dren. I feel that I am not at all qualified to direct 
in a thing of so much importance. I will however 
remark, that I do not like the punishment of whip- 
ping, unless when the child exhibits strong passion, 
or great obstinacy. It ought to be the last resort. 
Neither do I like those punishments which are chiefly 
directed to the selfish principles of our nature, as de- 
priving a child of cake, sweetmeats, &c. I should 



96 MEMOIRS OF 

rather aim to cherish feelings of conscious rectitude, 
and the pleasure of being beloved. I would have a 
child consider his parent's declaration that he is not 
good, his worst punishment. For instance, if your 
little boy has done very wrong, I would tell him he 
must not stay with mama, or must not take a walk, 
or see the company, or that he must eat his dinner 
alone; and all, because he is not good enough to be 
indulged these usual privileges. But there are some 
cases in which the use of the rod is indispensable. 

I am writing in the midst of the noise of tongues, 
and can only add that I think very well of Locke's 
System of Education, generally; also of Miss Ham- 
ilton's, and Dr. Witherspoon's. But after all, educa- 
tion is only an instrument, and the little ones must 
be borne, in the arms of faith, to that compassionate 
Redeemer, who has given parents such abundant 
encouragement to trust in him; committing them 
always into his hands, believing that, if they do so. 
he w^ill direct their steps. 



Boston, April 22, 1814. 

Have you seen the Memoirs of Mrs. Harriet 
Newell? It is a very interesting book. Such unre- 
served and disinterested devotedness to the cause of 
Christ, in so young a person, appears very extraor- 
dinary in these times of religious indifference and 
sloth. There was an elevation and spirituality in 
her character, seldom met with at the present day. 
No one can help admiring her excellence. Christians 
will be humbled by its contemplation, and stimulated 
to greater activity in the service of Christ. 

April 24. I have noticed a very striking differ- 
ence between my religious exercises now and several 
years ago. Then I was all joy; felt as if I could 
die for Christ; had the most joyful anticipations of 
heaven; would sit for hours, almost in an extacy, and 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. €7 

sing the most spiritual and elevated of Watts' 
hymns, particularly those concerning the frailty of 
life, the vanity of the world, the glorious state of 
departed spirits, &c. The language of my lips, I 
then hoped, (and I still hope it was so in some de- 
gree) of my heart, was, 

Jesus! when shall that dear day. 

That joyful hour, appear^ 
When 1 shall leave this house of clay, 

And dwell amongst 'em there? 

But now, alas! I too often feel happy, when I can 
look with the least complacency upon death! Yet 
it does seem to me that, if I know my own heart, 
my views are more scriptural, more consistent and 
more mature, than they were then. The Bible is 
more truly precious; and I see far more of the sinful- 
ness of my heart, and my perfect impotency. At 
times, I think, my views of the character of Christ 
are more evangelical, and my faith stronger now, 
than they were then; for sometimes, when my path 
is hedged up, and I am ready to sink in the deep 
waters, I am enabled calmly to stay my soul upon 
the bare promise of God. I certainly, if I am not 
altogether deceived, am not so self dependant and 
self-sufficient now as I was then. But my joy is not 
so constant, nor, at any time, so great, and I am 
more frequently distressed by doubts of my being a 
Christian at all. When I think of death, my dear 
husband and children seem like '^ weights that draw 
me downward still," and sometimes the thought of 
leaving them, is overwhelming. Still I, on the 
whole, think my state better now than it was then, 
and that I have better evidence of having passed 
from death unto life. Joy alone, is a fallible crite- 
rion. I had rather have the assurance that I had 
parted with one darling sin, or given up one beloved 
idol for Christ, than be raised to the third heaven in 
joy. But, oh! I long for both! I long to 

read my title clear 
To mansions in the skies, 



^° SEMOmS 0^ 

and to have the comfort of such an assurance. Let 
me, then, press on; continually examining my pro- 
gress by the word of God, and applying for fresh 
anointing to my great High Priest; and my hope 
will be like the morning light, which shineth more 
and more unto the perfect day. 

25. How poor and despicable is the ambition of 
living merely to shine. How many trifle away theit 
little span, in the useless glitter of brilliant nothing- 
ness. It is a selfishness to desire to live merely to 
be admired, which one pities at the same time that 
he condemns it. It is a spectacle, at once curious 
and melancholy, and that would create astonishment, 
were it not accounted for by the depravity of the 
human heart, to see the worms of yesterday, who 
to-morrow are not, and whose knowledge is, at best, 
a mere point, vainly swelling with the ostentation 
and pomp of self-complacency. Of how little con- 
sequence is it whether we live splendidly, if we 
live usefully? This is what we ought to labour after. 
This is an ambition Vv^hich God approves, an ambi- 
tion which suits the nature and dependant condition 
of man, and which will ennoble and elevate the fac- 
ulties; but which, otherwise employed, degenerates 
into unprofitable waste, and criminal perversion. 

May 2. My lungs are very weak. I often feel 
great distress from very slight exertions in talking, 
O how do I wish that my little strength may be de- 
voted to the glory of God; that my breath may not 
be wasted by idle and useless conversation! How 
dreadful to think that I have employed my health 
no better, for the best of Fathers, and in the best of 
causes! I long to do some good in the world. I 
long to be useful to my dear fellow creatures. I 
long to see all engaged for God. Oh, that these 
desires may be attained! I had some sweet freedom 
in prayer this morning. I felt that I could goto 
God, through Christ, as my Father. I think I felt 
something of the spirit of adoption, and saw some* 



jyms. susAK Huntington. 99 

thing of the preciousness of Christ; remembered 
with satisfaction and thankfulness, that he had trod- 
den the rugged path of human life, and the rough 
descent to the valfey of death, and smoothed them 
both for his children; and felt as if I could follow 
where he had led the way. 

This day resolved to set apart fifteen minutes 
every day, for special prayer in every season of 
affliction, and especially for strength to conquer my 
last enemy death. I need a double share of grace, 
owing, either to the weakness of my faith, or to the 
extreme sensibility of my nerves. I think I have 
given myself to Christ. I hope, I believe, he will 
appear for me when every other dependance fails 
me, and shew me that he is faithful in keeping that 
which I have committed to him. I am nothing but 
sin and weakness: but he is able and willing to save 
to the uttermost all that come to him. 

7. I have been blessed with much spiritual comfort 
for some days past. I scarcely ever had such dis- 
tinct exercises of faith. It has seemed as if I was 
as conscious of the divine presence, as ever I was 
of the presence of a friend when conversing with 
me. Audi have had such a persuasion that God did 
hear my prayers, and have gone to the throne of 
grace with so much of a spirit of self-renunciation 
and sweet reliance on the intercession of Jesus, that 
I must conclude that my exercises have been differ- 
ent from any thing v/hich the carnal heart can feel. 
The necessity of a Mediator was strikingly presented 
to my view this evening. It seemed impossible for 
a being, so holy as I saw God to be, to admit sin- 
ners — transgressors of his holy law and contemners 
of his glorious perfections, into his approving pres- 
ence, without a Days-man between them to lay his 
hand upon both. I think I know by experience the 
meaning of that text, "To you that believe he is 
precious." 



100 



MEMOIRS OF 



14. I feel much comfort to-day in the thought 
that I am in God's hands, for Hfe and for death. 
Death has, indeed, had many terrors to me; but I 
know that I shall be more than a conqueror, if Christ 
strengthen me; and he is my hope. Heaven and 
its employments sometimes appear inexpressibly de- 
hghtful. 

Salvation! Oh the joyful sound! 

Ear hath not heard another so sweet. Yes, I know 
that God hath laid up joys, which the heart of man 
cannot conceive, for them that love him. The gift 
of Christ is indeed, I feel it to be, an unspeakable 
gift. My heart sometimes yearns over my dear, 
miserable, dying fellow-sinners, who shut their eyes 
and ears to the voice of mercy. "Madness is in 
their hearts" of a truth. But they know it not. 
Pity them, O God! for Jesus sake, pity and save 
them! 

28. I have, of late, been much more comfortable 
in my body, and less so in my mind. It seems im- 
possible for me to keep in a spiritual frame, except 
when under the immediate pressure of affliction. 
When I see how time flies, and how little I do for 
God, it astonishes me. Such ingratitude and pride 
would melt into deep contrition a heart less obdurate 
than mine. It is strange beyond measure^ that I can 
be contented to live so immeasurably below my ob- 
ligations. O my God! teach me ever more to give 
heed to thy statutes, and to have respect unto all 
thy commandments, that my ways may be cleansed 
from every thing displeasing in thy sight! 

June 12. I heard an excellent sermon to-day, 
from the words, "Glorious in holiness," Ex. xv. 41. 
I felt that I could rejoice in this attribute of the 
Most High, as that which conferred glory on all the 
rest. I thought I could not vv^ish God to save sin- 
ners at the expense of this most precious attribute; 



MRS. SUSAN' HUNTINGTON. 101 

and that I saw the reasonableness and excellency of 
the law which condemns sin, and the wonderful 
manifestation and union of mercy, wisdom and jus- 
tice in the redemption of the world by the blessed 
Saviour. But I see just enough of divine things to 
make me long to see more. Oh! if these partial 
communications from the Father of lights are so 
sweet, what must heaven be? 

19. My friends are very desirous that I should 
take a journey into Connecticut for my health, 
under the protection of an acquaintance who is going 
on in an empty carriage. The prospect of leaving 
my children is distressing. Dear little creatures! 
thev clins^ to me with the utmost tenderness. I 
sometimes feel it to be mysterious that I should be, 
to such an extent, disqualified, by the feeble state 
of my health, to do my duty to them, when those 
duties are so important. But I do not complain, for 
it is God w^ho orders it thus. If he were to deal 
with me according to my deserts, I should be swept 
away with the besom of destruction. I long to have 
no will of my own; to live as an humble child at the 
feet of Jesus. God is wise, and righteous and good. 
I commit my v* ay unto him. 

Jidlj 4. Ai Ki'llngwortli^ Conn, O God, my 
soul is bowed down to the dast under this burden af 
sin; a grievous Joad, too heavy to be borne! Oh, 
who shall deliver me from the body of this death.^ 
Thou blessed Jesus, who art able to bruise sin and 
satan under my feet, I fly to thee! I humbly im- 
plore thy aid, to strengthen me to perform and' keep 
this resolution which I this day make. I solemnly 
resolve to endeavour, in the strength of the Lord, 
to be more watchful over myself, to maintain a con- 
stant sense of the divine presence, to take time to 
meditate, and think how Jesus would have acted in 
my situation, before I act, that I may not rashly 
say or do those things which, afterwards, I could 
weep the bitterest tears to recal. Blqssed Redeemer, 
9* 



102 IVIEMOIRS OP 

do thou assist me; or rather, do thou work by me 
and for me; or I shall be swallowed up in the 
mighty flood of corruption which threatens to over- 
whelm me. Help, Lord! or I must perish! 

20. I am in great distress. My dear father is 
apparently on the brink of the grave, with a dread- 
ful fever. My hand trembles so I can scarcely 
WTite. It seems as if my feeble frame could not 
support me through the trial. Dearest of earthly 
friends, husband and children excepted! Were it 
not for the consolation of knowing that God reigns,, 
what should I do^ Heaven spare him! Heaven 
prepare us, and especially my dear mother, for what 
is before us! Heaven support me, or I shall not 
bear the trial which God seems about to send! 

22. The conflict is over. My dear father, who 
loved me as himself, is gone, never to return! 
I may say with the Apostle, I am "troubled-^ 
but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed." 
But the wound is deep; it can never be healed. 
Dear man! I dwell too much on the merely earthly 
circumstances of this afflicting event. I ought to 
look beyond the veil. His sufferings were great; it 
pierces my heart to think of them. But what were 
they to the glory now revealed? Blessed be God 
for the satisfactory evidence he gave of preparation 
for the great change, and for the spiritual comfort 
he enjoyed, amid his bodily pains, and in prospect of 
death! I would bow at the solemn rebuke^ and say, 
Thy will be done! God of mercy, support, comfort 
and sanctify me! 

^ug. 4. I feel, I hope, sincerely desirous that 
this solemn providence may be sanctified . How can 
I again lean upon such a broken staff as this worldt 
How can I ever again think myself secure in the 
possession of any earthly good? Oh that I might 
feel hereafter, that I am indeed living as a proba- 
tioner for eternity! Now I ought to shake myself 
from the impure adhesions of this wretched world, 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 103 

and be more engaged in the work I was created to 
do. Now it is high time to awake out of sleep. 
But I am too much like the sluggard who is roused 
by the accusations of conscience, but still is too in- 
dolent to rise. I am clogged, paralyzed, by '-this 
body of death." I cannot excuse my supineness. I 
can only cry, God be merciful to me a sinner! I feel 
that it is only because Jehovah is infinite in mercy, 
that I am not beyond the reach of hope. I have 
reason to bless his holy name for the supports he 
vouchsafed me in the hour of trial. I think I had 
some precious views of his character, and of the 
rectitude of his government; some earnest desires 
that my sins, my idols, should all be buried in my 
beloved father's grave; some sense of the evil of 
sin, on account of which a merciful God was com- 
pelled in faithfulness to inflict so severe a chastisement 
upon me. But, alas! how is it with me now^ My 
dear husband is come; and I find I still lean to the 
creature, and am wickedly reposing on one who, 
like myself, is crushed before the moth; one whom 
God sent to comfort me, a blessing which he kindly 
lent me, but which L wretched creature! am dis- 
posed to put in the place of God! O how treacher- 
ous is my heart! What a miracle of mercy that my 
heavenly Father spares so perverse a child! I can 
only bring my soul to the efficacious fountain which 
grace has opened for sin and unc leanness. Here 
must I lie, for it is my only hope. 

5. What a changing, dying world! How does 
every relict of departed joys whisper to my soul, 
This is not your rest! On every side I behold me- 
morials of my departed father. They loudly speak 
the vanity of earthly comforts and pursuits, and bid 
me lay up treasure in heaven. I hear, and mourn; 
but do I hear and profit] 

For us he languished, and for us he died. 
And shall he languish; shall he die ia vain? 



104 MEMOIRS OF 

7. It is the Sabbath; and, on account of the great 
dampness of the weather, and my peculiar liabihty 
of late to take cold, and a more than usual indispo- 
sition, I have felt it my duty to remain at home. 
What multitudes of persons in health forsake the 
assembling of themselves to hear the word of life, 
and worship Jehovah in his holy temple! How 
alarmingly prevalent, in our country, is the breach of 
the Sabbath becoming; a sin which the history of 
the Israelites shews to be peculiarly offensive in the 
sight of God! We cannot expect the removal of 
our national judgments while, as a people, we de- 
spise the chastening of the Lord, and turn not unto 
him who smiteth us. God have mercy on us, and 
pour out his Spirit, and turn us unto himself by re- 
pentance that we may be saved! 

TO A FKIEND AT A. 

Killingioorthj Augtist 2^ 1814. 

You have been informed of my unexpected jour- 
ney to Connecticut. I came to take my last farewell 
of a parent, a father, dear to my heart, whom God has 
taken to a better world. How little did I anticipate 
such an event when I left home. But I can now see 
the kind interposition of providence in so disposing 
my concerns as to make such a journey necessary, 
notwithstanding the strong reluctance I felt to under- 
take it; so necessary indeed, that I was compelled to 
surmount every obstacle which interfered with its 
accomplishment. I came; and had the satisfaction of 
being with my excellent father a few weeks, of en- 
joying his society, and, I hope, of contributing to 
his happiness. I came to behold him struggle, for 
nearly five days, in an unequal and distressing con- 
flict with a fatal sickness, and then, at last, yield 
his spirit into the hands of Him who will have all 
his children to be with him, where he is, that they 
may behold and participate in his glory. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 105 

And now, my dear E., if you have thought me 
negligent in delaying to write, you will think me so 
no longer. You have lost a parent; and I need say 
no more. But I have, as you had, precious consola- 
tions under this solemn rebuke, which ha.ve, in a 
great measure, sweetened the bitterness of the afflic- 
tion. I believe that one reason why the loss of 
friends, of Christian friends at least, is sometimes so 
insupportable to survivors is, that we are too selfish 
in our feelings. We are apt to derive nourishment 
for sorrows which enervate the mind, from two 
sources; one the recollection of what we have lost, 
the other the remembrance of what our friend suffer- 
ed. But immoderate grief on these accounts is sinful, 
for it savours too much of the spirit of that idolatrous 
declaration ''Ye have taken away my gods, and what 
have I more?" 

My dear father fell a victim to the distressing fever 
which has swept away, within the last tw^o years, so 
many of our most valuable citizens and faithful min- 
isters. He preached, as usual, the sabbath before his 
death. His last text was, "And his rest shall be 
glorious." The next Friday he was, I have no 
doubt, admitted into the regions of the blest, and 
made an everlasting partaker of the joys he had so 
recently described. Happy spirit! 

Safe art thou lodged above these rolling spheres, 
The baleful influence of who&e giddy dance^ 
Sheds sad vicissitude on ail beneath! 

And who could wish thee again imprisoned in this 
dark world, far removed from God and heaven, and 
again subjected to the conflicts, the sufferings, and 
the sins of this mortal stated 

But my father's death was a general loss. His 
family mourn not alone. Many feel the wound to 
be grievous; many mingle their tears with those of 
bis afflicted relatives, over the remains of the man, 
the friend, the spiritual guide, whose fervent prayers^ 



106 MEMOIRS OF 

whose wise and benevolent counsels, have ceased 
forever. Glory be to God, for the precious promises 
of immortality which the Gospel unfolds! Glory be 
to God, that this light of life has smiled upon the 
darkness of the tomb, and taught the believer that, 
because Christ lives, he shall live also. This con- 
sideration whispers, 'Peace, be still,' and turns the 
terrors of the last enemy into light, and hope, and 
joy. Pray for me, my dear friend, that this afflictive, 
but righteous, providence may be sanctified; that I 
may be made by it, a partaker of God's holiness. 
A partaker of God's holiness'? Glorious thought! 
What a wonderful view it affords of the love of God, 
that he should afflict us to make us partakers of his 
holiness! Blessed end! 

TO A FRIEND IN BOSTON. 

Killingworih, Augttst 6, 1814. 

I thank you, my dear H., for your kind and ex- 
cellent letter. Though I needed not such a proof oj 
the continuance of your friendship, yet every tokeni 
of affectionate remembrance is peculiarly gratifying] 
in seasons of affliction. To be thought of, and prayed] 
for when we most need prayer, is comforting indeed, 
And such has been my case in no common degree. 
Yes, my dear girl, human comforters can do but] 
little toward alleviating the anguish of a heart bleed- 
ing with a wound like mine, unless God also admin-j 
isters consolation. And, blessed be his name! such] 
consolation I think I have in some measure receiv- 
ed. The stroke was no common one. It swept] 
away one of the kindest husbands, and one of th< 
most affectionate and faithful fathers, that ever wife 
or children were blessed with. Those who kne\i 
him best, loved him most; and all felt the loss t< 
be great. To this bereaved congregation especial- 
ly, it seems to have been a stroke, which cannot now 
be estimated, and must long be felt. 



MRS» SUSAN HUKTINGTOS'. 107 

But, though the dispensation is mysterious, though 
the death of my beloved parent has dried up forever 
the principal source of happiness with which I was 
favoured in this town, and, with a few exceptions, 
in this world; yet I have reason to bless God, that I 
am not conscious of ever having wished to counter- 
act the divine decree. There has been so much of 
mercy mingled in this cup of sorrow, that it has 
sweetened the bitter dregs which I have been called 
to taste. 

Oh, H., there is comfort, great comfort, in the 
believer's latter end. Then the value of the Gospel 
appears. What philosophers and wise men have 
shuddered at, what infidels cannot usually behold 
without horror, the believer can meet with humble 
confidence and holy joy. It is the hope of immor- 
tality through faith in Jesus, which bears him tri- 
umphant, 

through the gloomy vale 
Where death and all his terrors are. 

Take away this hope, even were he certain of ex- 
emption from suffering, what clouds and darkness 
would settle, in impenetrable gloom over the grave? 
Yes, the preciousness of those animating assurances 
of eternal life, and of the resurrection of the body, 
which are given in the Gospel of Christ, can never 
be so forcibly felt, as when Vv^e are about, either 
ourselves to put oflT the earthly house of this taber- 
nacle, or to behold a dear friend bid a final adieu to 
all earthly scenes. Well might the Psalmist say, 
"They that trust in the Lord shall be as Mount Zion 
which cannot be removed, but abideth forever. As 
the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the 
Lord is round about his people forever," to defend, 
to preserve, to cheer them, even when heart and 
flesh fail them. 

With the dead this earthly scene has closed forever. 
I They have lived, they have died, they have passed 



108 MEMOIRS OF 

into the world of spirits. We can be connected with 
them, precious and dear as they once were, no more. 
But what remains for us^ Much, very much. We 
are to see to it, that we despise not the chastening of 
the Lord, nor faint when we are rebuked of him. 
We are to take heed that, by our faithful improve- 
ment of afflictions, we may have evidence, that 
our tribulation has worked in us patience, our 
patience experience, and our experience the hope 
which maketh not ashamed. It is dreadful, when 
God is cutting off one creature comfort after an- 
other to teach us that this world is not our rest, to 
be clinging, with all the energies of an undiminished 
attachment to that very world, which is thus con- 
stantly breaking from our grasp, disappointing our 
hopes, and piercing us through with many sorrows. 
Wretched delusioni fearful case! for "he, who being 
often reproved, hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly 
be destroyed, and that without remedy." Pray that 
this may not be the result v/ith me. Pray that, having 
passed under the rod I may not be found incorrigible, 
but more docile and humble, and devoted to God. 

September 2. At Boston. I was quite well when 
I left Connecticut, but feel since my return, much 
that appears VvTong at my breast, and an almost con- 
stant pain in my side. At times I am almost dis- 
couraged, and think these complaints will terminate 
in a consumption. 

I had hoped to have been spared to my darling 
children; to have used my humble exertions to guide 
their infant minds in the paths of truth and hoHness; 
to have watched over their early associations, and 
directed those propensities Vvhich a mother best 
understands, and on the judicious management of 
which so much of their future usefulness and hap- 
piness depends. I had hoped to have directed their 
early studies; to have put into their hands such books 
as I know to be useful, or accompanied with my 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON, 109 

own observations such as I know to be dangerous, if 
they were greatly inclined to peruse them. I had 
hoped to have gone with them over the instructive 
pages of history, to have drawn their minds from an 
undue regard to riches and worldly endowments, by 
pointing them to the noble and virtuous conduct of 
statesmen and generals taken from the cottage and 
the plough. I had hoped to have shewn them, that 
ambition is not always successful, that pride is never 
productive of happiness, that outward greatness does 
not always involve magnanimity. And, above all, 
I had hoped to have shewn them, from the history 
of past ages, that the lusts and passions of men pro- 
duce wars and fightings, turmoil and misery and 
death; and to have drawn them to behold the differ- 
ence, manifested in ihe spirit of the Gospel of Christ, 
from this picture of wretchedness and sin; and thus 
to have taught them to cultivate the dispositions 
which that Gospel requires, and on which the hap- 
piness of individuals and of society depends. O how 
many ways may the mother seize, to teach the off- 
spring of her love the way of truth, which no one 
else can perceive. 

But w4iat if this office of maternal tenderness, dear 
to my heart as life, should be denied me; have I any 
complaint to make? No, none. Is not God able to 
take care of my children without me"? Yes, infinitely 
able. Let me not then be unreasonably anxious how 
it may be with my poor body. God governs, infi- 
nite rectitude is on the throne of the universe; and 
w^hy should I feav9 If it is for his glory that I should 
live, he is able to preserve me; if it is not, ought I 
to desire it? Oh that I may ever stand in a waiting- 
posture; not looking upon this world as my home, 
but desiring that all my will should be, that the 
Lord's will should be done! 
10 



110 



MEMOIRS OF 



TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. L. 

Boston, September 11^ 1814, 

We have been forming a Female Bible Society 
here, upon the plan of the one in Philadelphia, and 
in consequence of letters received from that society. 
What an honour for us, to be permitted to be co- 
workers with God in spreading that Gospel, which 
bringeth glad tidings of great joy to this miserable 
world. And those women, whose whole attention 
is not necessarily devoted to their families, ought to 
embrace such opportunities of usefulness, with joy. 
How much do our sex owe to the Gospel. And. 
should we not testify our thankfulness, by extending 
its blessings to those who are strangers to them? 
Were we faithful to redeem the time, we might all 
do much more than we do for the promotion of the 
kingdom of Christ. And is not the object worthy 
of such an effort? 



TO A FRIEND AT A. 

Boston, September lo, 1814, 

I always find that I am in a better frame of mind 
when my earthly gourds are blighted, I do not pray 
for afflictions; that would be impious presumption in 
a worm like me. But I think God has graciously 
led me to see, that they may be profitable, that they 
may even be pleasant, when he sees fit to send them, 
I never was so happy, as when the fatherly correc- 
tion of God has shewn me that this is not my rest, 
and my soul has relied, in faith and hope, solely on 
the faithfulness and grace of God through his dear 
Son; when, though my earthly comforts were cut off, 
I felt willing it should be so, and could repose on 
the precious belief that a Being of infinite wisdom 
and goodness, governs and guides the concerns of 
the universe. The joy thus produced is an Ua- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. Ill 

iitiiigled joy; it is joy in God, while self dwindles 
into its native nothingness. 

I am happy to learn of your welfare, and of your 
comfortable situation. I trust that the people of A., 
have received you as a rich gift from the great Head 
of the Church, and that, as such, you will be faithful 
to them. I also hope that you are given to your 
husband, to be a help to him in his arduous calling as 
an ambassador for Christ. And a great many ways 
are there, my dear friend, which God has afforded 
you now, of doing good all the days of your life. 
May the Father of mercies make you mutual helpers 
in this vale of tears; that so your mutual burdens may 
be lightened, and your mutual joys and your indi- 
vidual usefulness increased, and your reward in 
heaven be rendered more glorious. 

TO A FRIEND AT N. H. 

Boston, October^, 1814, 

As to those time-consuming parties, which disar- 
range a family for a week before to prepare for them, 
and for a week after to compose those affairs which 
have been put out of place, I scarcely know, from 
experience and personal observation, any thing about 
them. My early habits of country simplicity are 
so thoroughly interwoven with my constitution, that 
it would distress me greatly to go very much out of 
my accustomed way. Indeed, dear S., when we 
consider time as a talent which God has given us, 
to use for purposes which have for their object his 
glory, and the good of our fellow^ creatures, is it not 
melancholy to think how much of it is irrecoverably 
lost? I have often thought how eagerly a dying un- 
converted sinner, would long for one day, for one 
hour, to repent and seek for pardon. And yet how 
little is the abuse of time regarded? How many 
squander a whole life away, and find, at the close of 
it, that they have made no use of time but to accu- 



112 MEMOIRS OF 

mulate to themselves greater misery forever, by a 
remembrance of the waste. 

Jstovertiher 1. I feel an intense desire to put on 
Christ more uniformly, in my life and conversation. 
All that is past looks dark and unprofitable. My 
best duties have all been stained with sin. I should 
despair, but for the blood of Christ which cleanseth 
from all sin. Precious truth! How, like a healing 
bahn, it mitigates the agonies of a conscience which 
tells me that all has been wrong! ''The blood of 
Christ!" sweet, soothing sound! Here is hope for 
despair, here is joy for misery. 

5. The smoothest course of nature has its ills; 

And truest friends, through errcr^ wound our rest. 

How true is this! And what pains are so keen, as 
those inflicted by a friend? But it is fit that these 
miserable idols, to which we cling so fondly, should 
often be the cause of our greatest trials. We read 
our sin in our sufferings. Oh for a broken heart, 
that I may mourn its deep declension from God, 
and the love of the world, and the pride of spirit, 
which I have to record against myself to-night! 

20. Many, who have no knowledge of the sub- 
ject from experience, think that religion makes men 
gloomy. / know nothing of such religion. How 
can that which prepares us for afflictions, which 
teaches us to expect disappointments, which lowers 
our calculations and desires from this world, which 
resolves all things, with sweet complacency, into 
the will of the all-wise and all-merciful Governor 
of the universe, which assures us that Jehovah is 
pledged to make all things work together for good, 
which gives to the soul, in this wilderness, a fore- 
taste of heaven, and a hope attested by evidence 
which God himself has prescribed, of ultimate ad- 
mission to the joys of his immediate presence, — how 
can such a principle make men gloomy.^ It is 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 113 

impossible. O yes, I can say from experience, ''Thou 
wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed 
on thee; because he trusteth in thee." So far as 1 
can trust in God and love his w^ill, so far I am happy. 
Oh for more continual, more perfect, resignation 
and confidence. I know that what he appoints is 
best. May this conviction have an abiding influence 
upon my feelings and conduct! My soul, '-trust 
thou in the Lord forever, for in the Lord Jehovah 
is everlasting strength." 

December 2. Oh death, thou destroyer of human 
hopes and of human joys! when I look around me. 
and behold the ravages v/hich thou hast made among 
my friends, my kindred according to the flesh, I am 
astonished at the strength of that depravity which 
leads me still to cling to this dying world. Why, 
oh why, do I not rest my weary soul on the un- 
changable realities of heaven? There shall I meet 
tho?e dear ones who sleep in Jesus. Animating 
hope! "Then let my soul march boldly on," nor faint 
in the day of rebuke; but sweetly yield up all my 
earthly comforts, when Jesus demands them, that 
J may find my all in him. 

TO A FRIEND AT A. 

Boston, December 4; 1814. 

You know Mrs. . This day she lost a child, 

ihe fifth which God, in his inscrutable providence, 
Jias called her to give up within the last four or five 
weeks. I have felt very much for her. It appears 
to me enough to rend asunder the cords of life. 
But we can bear all things, v/hich the Almighty 
sees fit to inflict, if he strengthen us. ''As thy 
days," he says to the believer, "so shall thy strength 

be." And Mrs. , if I am correctly informed, 

is a witness for him that his faithfulness doth not 
fail. She behaves, I understand, like "a weaned 
child" under this accumulated rebuke. Such a 
10* 



114 MEMOIRS OF 

stroke, it would seem, must detach the soul that 
has received it from this perishable world. And 
yet the privation of every earthly comfort, will only 
make men miserable, unless almighty grace sanctifies 
the rod. How little can mere human fortitude do 
in such cases. Let us endeavour to learn wisdom 
from this melancholy providence. 

Have you read Dugald Stewart's Philosophical 
Essays? He is generally esteemed, I believe, one 
of the greatest men of the present age: and yet the 
loss of an only son, it is said, has almost made a 
wreck of those faculties which have delighted and 
astonished the vv^orld. Some merely carnal men, as 
we are compelled to believe them, do indeed endure 
trials with wonderful composure. But I know not 
how it is, unless they have some idol left to which 
they cling more closely. And perhaps, as the 
nature of sin is to harden the heart, they do not 
feel the wound so keenly as they would if they ^ere 
Christians. Such cases are, however, comparatively 
few; and all experience testifies, that faith and hope 
in God through Christ constitute the only effectual 
support in trouble. 

TO A FRIEND AT P. 

Boston, December 15, 1814. 

How is it with you, now, my dear friend? It is to 
be expected that the tw^o years which have elapsed 
since a letter passed between us, have witnessed some 
changes in our affairs and in our feelings. I have 
experienced the rod of affliction, in the loss of dear 
friends. The first stroke was not very near; the 
next left me alone of my father's children; the last 
took away the dear parent himself. You might pro- 
perly, and your friendship for me will lead you to, 
ask, 'And what has been the effect of these repeated 
visitations?' and I ought to be able to answer. Tri- 
bulation has worked patience, and patience experi- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 115 

ence, and experience hope. But my dear friend, I 
am a perverse scholar, even in the school of afflic- 
tion. I too often find that it is only the immediate 
pressure of trials, that keeps me in any thing of a 
suitable frame- Like those children who return to 
folly as soon as the chastening hand of the parent is 
withdrawn, I feel that I have an evil heart, continu- 
ally inclining me to depart from the living God. 
Yet, great as has been my guilt in profiting no more 
by the rod, I would still humbly believe that these 
chastisements, especially the last and greatest, have af- 
forded me some comforting views ofGod, which have 
strengthened and animated me to go on my way re- 
joicing, some manifestations of the state of my own 
soul, of the preciousness of the word, and of the 
safety and sweetness of trusting in the Lord, which 
I should not otherwise have had. My dear friend, 
why is it so difficult to confide in God, in relation to 
what looks dark and doubtful before us, w^hen we 
have so often found, that he is a very present help in 
trouble, and that he does make his severest dispen- 
sations w^ork for our good9 ¥/hy can we not cast 
all our cares upon Him that careth for us? It is a 
great dishonour to our compassionate God, to be 
doubting whether he will sustam us in cur extremity, 
or fearing that he will lay more upon us than he 
will enable us to bear. No, no; it cannot be. Only 
let us entrust ourselves, and all our interests, unre- 
servedly to Him who loved us unto death, and w^e 
must be safe. But ah! these vile hearts! Faith 
struggles, and struggles, and prevails; and then we 
have comfort. Then unbelief, secretly but success- 
fully, undermines our hopes, and we are in dark- 
ness. Yet let us not fear. God will, I trust, one 
day bruise Satan under our feet; and then, '^Oh 
how pleasant the conqueror's song!" 

Decernher IT. Oh for those sweet and precious 
view^s of divine things, which I had when my dear 
father was called from this fluctuating world! I was 



116 MEMOIRS OF 

then so comforted, and filled with peace. I cannot 
express the manner in which this life was exhibited 
to me. It seemed as if I stood on the outer verge 
of this world. My connexion with eternity ap- 
peared more immediate and certain, than that which 
I had with time. My husband and children, except 
one, were at a distance; my dearest present friend 
had gone to the world of spirits; and it appeared to 
me that I could apply to myself, as if addressed to 
me, individually and alone, the direction, ''Arise, 
and depart, for this is not your rest." I found that 
God was enough. I felt that his will was my will; 
and was unspeakably happy. Self seemed, in some 
degree, reduced toward its proper place, and I could 
say, God is on the throne, what more can I want? 
I perceived and felt that he governed uncontrola- 
bly, and my soul was satisfied, entirely satisfied. 
Oh for some such precious mercy drops upon my 
thirsty spirit now! 

TO A FRIEND AT A. 

Boston, January 3, 1815. 

Do you find as much leisure for public charities, 
as you used to before your marriage? Young ladies 
should consider the talent w^hichis entrusted to them 
of time, disencumbered of domestic cares, as a pre- 
cious deposit, and devote it faithfully to the service of 
Christ. They may not have so much influence 
(though it is far from being always so) as married 
ladies, but they have more time and opportunity for 
action in the various fields of Christian benevolence 
which it is proper for females to cultivate; they can 
do more for the promotion of the various charities 
of the present day. Yet our situation, my dear 
friend, is not without opportunities for doing good. 
A married lady can exert greater influence in her 
own family than any where else; she may be mor^ 
tisefal there than she could be any where else. It 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 11 



it 



is indeed in a silent, unobserved way; but not on 
that account the less acceptable to God, or the 
less beneficial to the world. Besides industrious 
women may redeem much time from their families 
for more public duties. But in saying w^hat might 
be done I condemn myself. 

I have nothing pleasing of a religious nature to 
communicate. I sometimes think you are much 
favoured, to be so quietly seated down in the midst 
of a people where doctrinal divisions are scarcely 
known; though I am sensible that the greatest out- 
ward prosperity of Zion, cannot produce abiding 
comfort in that soul whose inward graces are lan- 
guishing. It cannot fail, however, I think, to give 
pain to every Christian, whose graces are not deplor- 
ably benumbed by the absence of the Sun of right- 
eousness, to see thousands weekly visiting the sanc- 
tuaries of the Most High, the original use of which 
was to proclaim to lost sinners complete salvation 
through Him who died to redeem us from the curse 
of the law, without ever being informed by their 
spiritual watchmen that they are exposed to that 
curse, and in perishing need of that Saviour! Pain- 
ful indeed is it to see miserable sinners, in a land of 
sabbaths and sanctuaries, hastening to eternity with- 
out being informed, that they must be born again if 
they would enter the kingdom of heaven, that by the 
deeds of the law no flesh shall be justified; to see 
them coming avvay^ from the place professedly de- 
voted to religious instruction, ignorant of God, of 
themselves, and of the only way of salvation; re- 
solving, if resolving at all, merely to be more moral 
while the heart and soul of true morality — the mo- 
tives from which truly moral conduct springs, are 
entirely overlooked! Am I uncharitable? Charity 
rejoiceth in the truth. But is this the truth of .God? 
Is the Gospel of the Son of God little better than 
a svstem of heathen ethics? for if mere external 
morality is all it requires, it is little better. 



118 MEMOIRS OF 

Yet, those who regard this as the Gospel, tell us 
there is no essential difference between their views of 
it and ours! Strange, passing strange! When we con- 
sider the tremendous realities of death, judgment, and 
eternity; when we realize the awful import of that 
declaration, '^He that believe th not shall be damned;" 
when we behold a person, who has never performed 
one sinless action, going into the presence of the 
Holy One trusting to his morality for acceptance; 
and remember that Christ alone is the end of the 
law for righteousness to every one that belie veth, 
and that there is no salvation in any other way; can 
we admit that there is no material difference between 
our views of religion, and those to which I have re- 
ferred? Is not the difference great, awfully, eter- 
nally great? If not, I am blind indeed. 

But while we feel, and maintain, the vast import- 
ance of the truth, and the guilt and the danger of 
error, we must be careful to avoid, if possible, 
giving even an occasion for the imputation of un- 
charitabieness. Those who are zealous for the truth, 
and even those who have experienced its renovating 
power, sometimes provoke this charge by an acri- 
monious and intolerant spirit. If men once think 
we are actuated by the spirit of party, farewell to 
the hope of doing them good. They will give us as 
much credit for a concern for their happiness in 
religious, as in political disputes, and no more. 
"Rivers of waters run down mine eyes," says the 
Psalmist, "because they keep not thy law." If the 
friends of evangelical doctrine would plead their 
cause with such a spirit, they would gain far more 
to the kingdom of heaven than by "flowing words 
and swelling speech." 

Jmiuary 5. How difficult, how hopeless is the 
task of pleasing every body! A fortnight since a 
lady said to me, with a tone and manner which gave 
peculiar emphasis to the words, "How is it possible 
you can go out so much, visit your people so fre- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. Il9 

qiienily, and be engaged in so many charitable soci- 
eties, without neglecting your familyf" This week 
a different imputation has been attached to my con- 
duct. I am censured for doing so little in a public 
w^ay, and confining myself so much to my family, 
I am accused of want of interest in public charities! 
because I give to them so little of my time and 
attention. Such different opinions are formed of the 
same conduct! But the voice of wisdom bids me, 
cease from man whose breath is in his nostrils, and 
study to approve myself to God. — As to my conduct, 
I am very sensible that I do little good in the world, 
in comparison with what I might do. But whether 
I could with propriety, devote more time to the 
active duties of public charities, I have serious 
doubts. More of the charity of prayer, to Him 
who can effectually ameliorate the calamities of the 
world by subduing its corruptions, I might, I ought, 
to bestow. Alas! here how far I fall short! But 
my opinion is, that her own family has the first 
claim to the attention and active exertions of a mar- 
ried lady. So much time as can be redeemed, (and 
she should feel it her duty to redeem as much as 
possible,) from the ordering of domestic affairs, the 
care and culture of children, the duties of personal 
religion, the improvement of her own mind, and 
the perusal of works from which assistance may 
be derived in the all important business of education, 
may be, and much of it ought to be, devoted to the 
duties of public charity." 

* It may be well to state in this place, that^ at the time of her death, 
Mrs. Huntington v/as a life member of the Female Orphan Asylum, and 
of the Fragment Societs ; a life member, and the Vice President of the 
Graham Society; a life member, and a director, of the Corban Society, 
and of the Female Society o^ Boston and Vicinity for promoting Chris- 
tianity among the Jews; a life member, and the Corresponding Secre- 
tary, and one of the visiting and distributing Committee, of the Female 
Bible Society of Boston and Vicinity; an annual subscriber to the 
Widows' Society, and to tlie Boston Female Education Society; an 
annual subscriber to, and the Vice President of the Old South Charity 
School Society; an annual subscriber to, and a director of, the Boston 
Female Tract Society; and a member of the Boston Maternal Asscrci- 
ation. 



120 MEMOIRS OF 

I feel that I do very wrong in suffering myself to 
be so much affected by the opinions of my fellow 
creatures. A person must form his own rules of con- 
duct; and, having judiciously formed, must pursue 
them, and not be continually fluctuating according 
to the sentiments of every one with w^hom he hap- 
pens to meet. Oh that God would give me grace to 
redeem my time, so that I may render my account 
of it with joy! 

February 2, I am discontented and unhappy. 
The day has been passed in hurry and confusion. I 
am always miserable when deprived of opportunities 
for reflection and private devotion. I think I can 
look forward with delight, to the moment when these 
worldly hindrances will be removed forever. 

13. The good news of peace has just arrived. 
Amidst the noise of bells and guns and acclamations, 
I think my heart has been ascending to God in de- 
sires that, having given us peace with the nation 
w^ith whom we have been contending, he would not 
suffer us to be at enmity with himself. I think my 
earnest longings have been excited that, as a people, 
we may be induced to make peace with heaven, and 
to listen to the heralds of divine mercy more joy- 
fully than to any mere human overtures of recon- 
ciliation, however desirable. Oh that, as a people^ 
we might be the friends of God! 

17. I feel to-night something of that distressing 
nervous depression, Vv hich my God has so graciously 
prevented for a long time, — a natural infirmity which, 
but for His upholding grace, would, before this 
time, have destroyed me! Blessed be his name that 
I have, for several months, been almost uniformly 
cheerful, and enjoyed great mental composure! But 
oh, should he leave me! A reed, shaken with the 
wind! what should I do! 

I, of all creatures in the universe, should be hum- 
ble, should be pitiful; for I am the weakest of th< 
weak. I do not know any extreme of dejection U 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 121 

which I might not sink. But God holds me up, and 
I am safe. Dear Lord, let me "never stray from 
the shadow of thy wing!'' let me never be so infatu- 
ated as to lean on any arm but thine, or trust in any 
other refuge but thee! 

Give what thou wilt, without Thee I am poor: 
And with Thee rich, take what thou wilt away. 

20. How precious is a throne of grace! There, 
when I approach it in humble faith, I find a relief 
from every burden. I feel, I trust, an ardent de- 
sire to be made more useful in my visits to our 
dear people; to manifest, when among them, more 
of the spirit of Christ; to have my speech, when 
conversing with them, always with grace, seasoned 
with salt, that it may contribute to their edification. 
Oh that the precious interests of their souls may 
lie nearer my heart, and oftener urge me to God in 
their behalf! 

TO A FRIEND AT A. 

Boston, March 26, 181 f;. 

I have not heard from you since the return of 
peace, an event which, for several days, clothed al- 
most every face with a smile. It is indeed a joyful 
event. And yet, one cannot help being concerned 
at the apparent selfishness of the joy, manifested by 
most, on this occasion. Few appear to regard it in 
any other light, than as it affects the prices of goods, 
or the advantages for trade, or for the indulgence of 
luxury. Few, alas! appear to recognize God as the 
author of the blessing, and their consequent obliga- 
tions to him. 

But let me not dwell upon the dispositions and 
views of others, while I have so much greater need 
to examine my own. My dear friend, it is we, 
professors of religion. Christians as we hope, whose 
ingratitude is the most provoking to God. JVational 
11 



122 



HEMOIBS Ot 



judgments, in my view, are especially sent for the 
profiting and purifying of Christians. Impenitence 
under them, and ingratitude upon their removal, are 
to be expected from those who are, under every 
dispensation, treasuring up wrath against the day of 
Avrath. But that God should behold his own children 
as stupid and carnal, as vain and worldly, after such 
judgments, as before, oh! this is criminal, is alarming 
indeed. If, as all experience testifies, there is great 
danger of this being the case with Christians, then 
there is great need of their praying, constantly and 
fervently, for each other. We should seldom pray fo¥ 
ourselves, without remembering all those who love 
our Lord Jesus Christ, every where. Were professors 
of religion more faithful in performing this duty, we 
should not see so many who, in a spiritual sense, 
can scarcely be said to live at all. We should find 
them engaged for God; conformed, much more than 
they are, to his likeness; and, by their holy exam- 
ple and fervent prayers, constraining m£iny otheri^ 
also to glorify their Father in heaven. Our churches 
Would soon be purified from pernicious errors, and 
the fruits of our religion would manifest it to be of 
God. 

Our Bible Society (Female) succeeds very well, 
and is doing much good. I suppose you have seen 
the New Jersey and New York reports for 1815. The 
latter is very interesting. Three Siberian princes 
are earnestly desirous of obtaining the Scriptures for 
general circulation among their people, having been 
convinced by experience of their salutary influence; 
and have applied to the Russian Bible Society for a 
supply. The dawning of the millennial day really 
seems to have come. Let us pray fervently, that we 
may behold stronger and stronger beams of light, 
till the Sun of righteousness shall arise upon all landsy 
and illuminate all hearts. 



MRS. SUSAi' HUNTIKGTOX. 123 



TO A SISTER-IN-LAW. AT N. L. 

BostOTiy March 21, 1315. 

A female society has just been formed here, for the 
liberal education of such indigent pious young men 
of good capacity, as manifest a strong desire to 
preach the Gospel; and it is confidently expected 
the gentlemen >vill take up the business on a large 
scale. Such societies are comparatively new, but, 
you will at once perceive, of great importance. 
They ought. I think, to be instituted throughout 
Christendom, for the evidence is every day accumu- 
lating of the fact, that the harvest is great, but the 
labourers are few. In what way Vv ill so great an 
amount of good be likely to be accomplished, as by 
raising up faithful ministers? I hope females will 
more generally and deeply feel their unspeakable 
obligations to the relicfion of Christ, and make o^reat- 
er exertions for its extension in the world. They 
can do much, very much, in various w^ays; and surely 
they are bound to do all they can. Christians of 
both sexes wdll see and feel the necessity of making 
far, far greater exertions in every way, than they 
have yet made, for the spread of the Gospel, before 
the millennial glory of the Church is attained. 

April 4. This subject of education is one that 
lies nearer my heart, than any other merely temporal 
concern. It is easy to speculate about it, and to 
prescribe rules to others. It is easy to form a cor- 
rect and most judicious system; and to say v/ith 
Foster's man of indecision, ''This is a good plan, a 
plan which would be very useful in its results.'' and 
after all, make shipwreck of the disposition and minds 
of our children by mismanagement. All this is easy, 
for the same reason that it is easy to acquire correct 
opinions on any subject. But acting, practice; here, 
here is the difficulty. The truth is, no one can govv 
em a family of children well without much reflection 



124 3IEM0mS OF 

and, what the world calls, trouble. There must be 
an accurate judgment formed respecting, the char- 
acter of each child, and a regular and consistent 
method, adapted to each, pursued. And, what is 
more difficult still, the parent must uniformly govern 
herself. This, certainly, is not easy; it calls for the 
unremitted exertion of several most eminent and 
rare Christian graces- 
It appears to me that three simple rules, steadily 
observed from the very gtrm of active existence, 
would make children s tempers much more amiable 
than we generally see them. First! Never to give 
them any thing improper for them, because they 
strongly and passionately desire it; and even to with- 
hold proper things, until they manifest a right spirit. 
Second. Always to gratify every reasonable desire, 
when a child is pleasant in its request; that your 
children may see that you love to make them happy. 
Third, Never to become impatient and fretful your- 
self, but proportion your displeasure exactly to the 
offence. If parents become angry, and speak loud 
and harsh, upon every slight failure of duty, they 
may bid a final adieu to domestic subordination, 
unless the grace of God interposes to snatch the little 
victims of severity from destruction. I feel confi- 
dent, from what observation I have made, that, 
although more children are injured by excessive 
indulgence than by the opposite fault, yet the effects 
of extreme rigor are the most hopeless. And the 
reason is, associations of a disagreeable nature, as 
some of the ablest philosophers have stated, are the 
strongest. This may account for the melancholy 
tact, that the children of some excellent people grow 
up more strenuously opposed to every thing serious, 
than others.^ They have been driven, rather than 

^■Such instances there undoubtedly are; and the parents of such children 
have great cause for humiliation before God, for if their Christian fidelity 
had been tempered with a iittie more of Christian wisdom and Christian 
kindness, the result would probably have been different. But cases of 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 125 

led, to observe the forms and outward duties of reli- 
gion, and its claims upon their hearts have been too 
commonly presented to their minds, in the impera- 
tive, and not in the inviting form. 

For my own part, I find myself falling so far short, 
that I am, sometimes, overwhelmed with the dis- 
tressing apprehension of erring fatally. Dear chil- 
dren! I tremble for you, when I reflect how danger- 
ous is the path in which you are to tread, and how 
difficult the task of directing you in safety. Lord! 
I commit myself, whom thou hast made the guide of 
their youth, I commit their hearts and ways, unto 
thee! 

TO MRS. H. OF BRIDGEWATER. 

Boston, Apinl 21, 1815. 

My letters are short, I acknowledge; and I suppose 
you will look incredulous and smile when I say, 
they are so, in a great measure, for want of time. 
^^Vhat,' you w^ill say, after reading the preceding 
sentence, ^can possibly be the reason that you are 
^o hurried.^ There must be mismanagement, or some- 
thing of that nature.' Very well; I must rest satis- 
fied to have you believe so, if you vrill; and only 
reply. You know just as much about my numerous 
engagements, interruptions, and hindrances, as half 
the people in the world know of the reasons for the 
conduct of the other half; v/hich conduct, they, with- 
out mercy and without knowledge, condemn. 

But I am not censuring you. I doubt not your 
good nature is ready to make every apology for me, 

this kiud are by no means so numerous as is commonly supposed. The 
truth is, the cliildren of religious parents are expected^, (and justly too), 
to be better than others. Hence every instance of the disappointment of 
this expectation, makes a strong impression on the mind of an observer 
which is extremely apt to lead him to very erroneous conclusions, re- 
specting the influence of the instructions and restraints of a religious 
family. An impartial investigation of facts wil I prove , that the maxim 
^* Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he Wili 
jio.t depart from it/' is as true uow as it was in th.e time of Solomon' 
11* 



126 MEMOIRS OF 

even though you cannot take into view those partic- 
ular circumstances in my situation, v^hich present the 
most satisfactory excuses, for all seeming negligences 
of this sort, to my own mind. To own the truth, (and 
it reflects no honour on either my firmness, or my 
faith,) I am, dear sister, sometimes almost discour- 
aged. My duties are so much greater than my 
strength, that I feel entirely disqualified for this 
station. I despise that narrow, selfish spirit, which, 
satisfied w^ith the gratification of its own desires, sits 
quietly down, and heeds not the calamities of a 
miserable world, a world filled with brethren, who 
are perishing. No; I am not pleading for oppor- 
tunity to foster and indulge so dishonourable a tem- 
per. But when I see an increasing family of im- 
mortal souls, whom I have been the instrument of 
bringing into this wretched world, cast upon my 
care; when I think, that I am to be a principal instru- 
ment in forming their characters, and thus, in fixing 
their destinies for eternity; that instructions, and pray- 
ers, and efforts must be accompanied with an example 
of unblemished purity; that every inconsistency in 
my conduct may produce in their minds a false asso- 
ciation, the influence of which may be most pernicious, 
and the smallest deficiency in the correction of first 
errors produce a habit which may never be counter- 
acted; I tremble. WhenI view these things, contrast- 
ed with my weakness, my blindness, my continual 
declensions from the straight path, I am overwhelmed. 
Add to this the claims of a large congregation, those 
constant attentions at home and abroad, many of 
which consume the time I want for better things; 
and the weakness of my lungs, which always makes 
talking irksome, and often laborious and distressing, — 
consider all these things; and you will see that I 
have at least some occasion for misgivings. But I 
do not complain. If my heavenly Father strengthen 
me, weak as I am., all these things will be easy. 
Pray for me, that I may have stronger faith. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 127 

May 10. I always find the weakest people the 
most ready to animadvert upon the actions, and 
judge of the conduct, of others. They are not dis- 
posed to make allowances for motives which they 
do not understand. I find in myself a propensity to 
give my opinion with the greatest confidence, upon 
those subjects with which I am least acquainted. A 
thorough knowledge of a subject, commonly brings 
to view so many manifestations of its parts and 
bearings, as, often, to produce a total alteration in 
its aspect as first presented. And if a subject appears 
to me, upon examination, in a very different light 
from that in which I first viewed it, there may be 
still other points, which have been overlooked, that 
would give it yet another appearance in my view. 

As respects the conduct of others, I have some- 
times judged, and pronounced an unfavourable de- 
cision, when the circumstances of the case have been 
such, as to prevent my ascertaining whether there 
were, or were not, good reasons for the action I con- 
demned. How very reprehensible is such a temper! 
How it displeases, and even irritates me, when I dis- 
cover it in others. May I be led, when I see my actions 
called in question, to abhor the spirit of censorious- 
ness in myself! Oh for a meek and humble temper, 
and a heart satisfied with the approbation of God, 
whether men praise or blame. 

16. Time is short, very short. Oh for more of 
the temper indicated by that reply of our Lord 
"Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's busi- 
ness.?" Especially it seems important that I should 
pray without ceasing, because it w^ll soon, it may 
very soon, be too late for me to do any thing in this 
way for the world, and for my dear children. Bless- 
ed be God! I have had much enlargement, of late, in 
pleading for the latter, I think I can appeal to Him 
who knoweth all things, that I have chosen Jehovah 
for the portion of my children above every other 
portion. Honour, and wealth, and long life, and all 



128 MEMOIRS OF 

temporal blessings, have appeared, for them, as trifles 
and vanity compared with this. And as I have chosen 
God for them above riches, and as he has promised to 
be the God of the seed of believers, I do feel great 
encouragement that he will also choose them for an 
inheritance forever. I have had strong desires of 
late that, if it shall please God to remove me from 
this world before he takes my husband to himself, 
he will impart to him a double portion of wisdom, 
and strength, and fidelity, and patience, in behalf of 
our children, that they may not suffer by my re- 
moval. I make this a special subject of prayer. But 
I desire that, if it is for the Lord's glory. I may be 
spared. And I bless his name that he has, I humbly 
hope, given me a good degree of willingness that 
this desire should not be granted on any other con- 
ditions. 

22. I have had unusual peace and comfort of 
mind of late. The strength of the Lord is my con- 
fidence. I am not afraid to trust to it. I rest, with 
calmness and joy, upon the precious, covenanted 
inercy of God in Christ. I would not exchange the 
hope, I have of an interest in that mercy, for all the 
health, and wealth, and accumulated good things, the 
world can afford. 

TO A FRIEND AT A. 

Boston, June 14, 1815. 

I am reading the Memoirs of the Re\. Samuel 
Peirce, compiled by Andrew Fuller. How the hfe 
of such a man shames and condemns that of common 
Christians. He was preeminently a holy man. The 
most striking feature of his piety seems to have been, 
an annihilation of self, and total absorption in the 
will of God. This grace appears to me the most 
lovely of all the admirable qualities combined in the 
Christian character, and that, by which the superi- 
ority of his to all other religions is, perhaps, the 



5IRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 129 

most Strikingly exhibited. And is it not also the 
most rare, and the most difficult to be acquired? 

If we habitually felt properly submissive to our 
heavenly Father's will, where would be that unavail- 
ing and harassing solicitude about our future temporal 
circumstances, which so often interrupts present en- 
joyment? where that dejected and disconcerted spirit 
with which we so often contemplate the desolation 
of our earthly hopes and visionary schemes!^ Instead 
of distressing ourselves, and preventing, by our un- 
belief, that good from being communicated by our 
Father, which he is able to cause every trial to pro- 
duce, we should, under affliction, meekly and humbly 
w^ait for what the Lord our God should judge best, 
and enjoy the comfort of such a heavenly frame in 
the midst of sorrow. How would such a disposition 
smooth the rugged path of life, and convert every 
occurrence of the way into a blessing! Well, my 
dear friend, the God we serve is able and willing to 
give us this precious grace. There is no reason why 
we should be destitute of it, but that which springs 
from our own unbelief, which is our sin. Let us 
then have stron^i^er confidence in God. and wait UDon 
him for this blessing by continual prayer; and he 
will not disappoint our hope, but shew us, by happy 
experience, that his will is the best, and that none 
of those who trust in him shall be desolate. 

TO A FRIEND AT C. 

Boston, June SO, 1S15, 

I have thought, my dear friend, of your present 
situation as respects religious privileges, with much 
interest. You think it unfavourable to progress in 
the divine life. On many accounts it is so, without 
doubt. But it is the peculiar excellence of our reli- 
gion, that it enables its disciples to derive instruction 
even from those circumstances which, to human 
view, appear the most adverse. The promise of God 



130 BlEMOms OF 

standeth sure, that all things shall work together fof 
good to them that love him. And, my dear Mrs. — , 
all our religious privileges can be protitable, only as 
God blesses them to us^ and he is infinitely able to 
grant as great a blessing without them. We may 
receive as much religious improvement from being 
deprived of a means of grace we had anticipated 
with delight, as from enjoying it. In general, un- 
doubtedly, God affords the blessing in the use of his 
established means; but when he sees an humble 
heart longing after the enjoyment of ordinances of 
which it has been deprived by his providence, he 
meets with such a soul, and shews it that his presence 
and grace are not confined to particular places and 
circumstances. He is the Sun; and all the beams of 
light which illumine the Christian's heart in attend- 
ing upon ordinances, emanate from him. He is the 
Fountain, from which all that is profitable in the 
most faithful sermon, the most spiritual companion, 
the most useful connexions, is derived. And to him 
may every thirsty soul repair, without the interven- 
tion of any outward means, and receive an abundant 
supply for every want. What a source of comfort is 
this, that nothing can shut out the soul that longeth 
after God from communion with him.'' Bolts and bars 
may exclude the presence of man, sickness may 
prostrate the body and enfeeble the mind, persecu- 
tion may cut us off from all those outward privileges 
which usually are the means of sustaining the Chris- 
tian's hope and joy; but all these combined, cannot, 
shut out God from the soul that desires his presence. 
>'The Lord is nigh unto all that call upon him, to all 
that call upon him in truth." So the people of God 
may always expect to find it when, as you are at 
present, deprived, providentially, of the opportunity 
of attending upon the public means of grace. But 
if they mi^ht attend upon those means, and neglect 
to do so, they need not expect the divine blessing. 
They may attempt to seek God at home, when they 



MRS. SUSAN HXJKTINGTON. 131 

might, and ought, to be in the sanctuary; but they 
will not find him. While they are thus slighting his 
ordinances, he will turn a deaf ear to their prayer, 

TO A FRIEND AT N* H. 

Boston, December 31, 181d. 

This is the last evening of the year. My mind 
is very solemn, as I reflect that another year of my 
life has fled forever. Oh, S., what a shadow is this 
little span which we call life! Miserable man, who 
has no hopes of a better! Well might the wise man 
exclaim, "Madness is in the hearts of the sons of men 
that do evil, while they live; and after that, they go 
to the dead." What madness can equal his who., 
living in such a world, and seeing one after another 
prostrated and taken away by the universal destroy- 
er, can fondly fancy he may here take his rest; can 
pursue, with supreme devotedness, the bubbles and 
the gewgaws of time, and think them worth pursuing; 
can shut his eyes to the glories of heaven and the 
awful realities of eternity, to w^hich his next step may 
introduce him! — But there is something even more 
strange than this. The Christian, he to whom Christ 
and holiness, and heaven, have been precious beyond 
what tongue can express, even he, can turn his eyes 
from the glories of his present hopes and his future 
inheritance, and cleave to the vanities of this miser- 
able, dying w^orld! How deep rooted and strong 
must be that depravity, which can thus ensnare the 
hearts of those whom Christ has chosen out of the 
world. 

June 1816. And is it possible that a whole year 
has taken its eternal flight since I last wrote in my 
journal! What then is life, composed as it is of a few 
such fleeting evanescent periods? — a vapour, which 
appeareth for a little time, and then vanishcth away! 
Oh my God! what have I done for thee in this space 



132 



MEMOIRS OF 



of time? This book testifies against me, that I have 
done but little, almost nothing; for it brings to my 
mind mercies received, mercies idolized, mercies 
forgotten; opportunities for doing good neglected, 
judgments slighted, privileges abused; it upbraids 
me with having been, in a measure, dead while I lived! 
Were it not for the infinite mercy of God in Christ, 
I must, even now, lie down in shame, and have con- 
fusion for my everlasting portion. The last year, I 
haA^e had good healthy but a lean soul. I tremble at 
my unprofitableness. What account can I give of 
my time^ Waste, waste, waste! Oh my injured 
Father! I cannot look up in thy presence. I am con- 
demned, justly condemned before thee! I see how 
richly I have deserved the heavy stroke which God 
appears to be about to inflict upon me, in the person 
of my youngest child. Oh for grace not to misim- 
prove my chastisements, as I have the many mercies 
of my heavenly Father! 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. L. 

Boston, July 3, 1816. 

Our dear little Elizabeth is quite unwell. She 
frequently has slight convulsion fits; sometimes, two 
in a day; at other times, none for several days. They 
do not generally last more than half a minute. They 
originate, I fear, in a diseased state of the head. I 
kept the dear babe at home till she was three months 
old; at the expiration of which period, my friends 
well remember my remarking, that she was the 
strongest and most forward child I ever had. She 
was then put out to nurse, and appeared very lively 
and well for some time. She grew fleshy, and ap- 
peared sober, and not inclined to play. But as this 
was the case with my oldest, I was not alarmed 
about it. At nine months old, she still manifested 
this uncommon soberness, and could not sit alone 
though she appeared to stand strong. I became un- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 133 

easy. My physician insisted that the child was 
doing perfectly well, and advised me to keep her 
out all summer. When she had stayed a month 
longer, I determined to take her home. It was, I 
found, with difficulty I could make her smile; and 
unless handled with the utmost gentleness, she would 
scream as if she was hurt. Now, she occasionally 
laughs, but cannot sit alone, and does not hold any 
thing in her hand, though she is a year old. Her 
countenance is intelligent, but sorrowful. She sighs, 
inclines to keep her fingers clenched, and puts her 
hand to her head hundreds of times in a day. She 
cannot now bear her weight ten minutes, without 
reddening in her little face with fatigue, and sinking- 
down into the lap. What is to be done for her f 
know not. The physician still encourages m.e to 
hope that it is nothing serious, or that will be lasting; 
but I fear he is mistaken. No sacrifices, no priva- 
tions, would be any thing to us, if this precious child 
could be saved. Oh that God would direct us! But 
I can only lay my hand upon my mouth, and say, 
Father! not as I will, but as thou vrilt. Distressing 
as is the thought that a darling child is in danger of 
death, or of losing its reason, (to which such affec- 
tions as Elizabeth's, if I am not mistaken, directly 
tend,) I must be still, for God is a rock, and his 
work and his will are perfect. Pray for us, dear 
E., that the circumstances of this dear babe, whether 
of life or death, may be ordered in infinite compas- 
sion, and that we may be prepared for, supported 
under, and sanctified by, whatever God has in store 
for us. I do feel, at times, that, as a father pitieth 
his children, so my heavenly Parent pities me, under 
the sorrows wliich my sins have compelled him, in 
faithfulness and love, to inflict upon me. It is the 
Lord, let him do what seemeth to him good. 

September. What a poor vehicle is language to 
convey an idea of the realities of religious experi- 
12 



134 



MEMOIRS OF 



ence? When God presents a view of heavenly 
things to the mind of the believer, he can only say, 
with the Apostle, "It is unspeakable."— But this I 
can, and must say, God is faithful. Here let me 
record it as a perpetual remembrancer for the time 
to come, God is faithful. His everlasting arms 
are abundantly adequate to the support of his chil- 
dren, however tried, however afflicted. Who can 
feel the import of that blessed truth, -In all things 
we are more than conquerors through Him that loved 
us," but those who have been taught of the Spirit? 
I have been led in triumph through trials I should 
have deemed insupportable; but not by my own 
strength. Ah! I am weak, as the worm crushed 
by the foot of a child. But I have been enabled to 
feel that the strength of God was mine, to go out 
of myself and lean entirely upon the omnipotent 
One. I am now standing and admiring the goodness 
and grace which turned my night into noon-day. — 
But I am looking back upon a glory which has gone 
by. I am supported and resigned; but my meridian 
sun is beclouded. Sin has led me, in some measure, 
away from God the fountain of my joy; and unbelief 
and solicitude have entered my mind. Oh my soul! 
return again unto thy rest. 



TO A FRIEND AT A. 

Boston, December 20, 1816. 

Once more has my gracious Benefactor appeared 
for me, one of the most unworthy of his creatures, 
and put the song of salvation and praise into my 
mouth. I can scarcely forbear weeping, as I write, 
at the remembrance of the mercies, the accumulated 
mercies, I have experienced, as contrasted with my 
own criminal negligence in the service of the best 
of masters. Oh! '-to grace how great a debtor!" 
I trust this will be my delightful song through eter- 
nity. The past summer has been marked with 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 135 

peculiar trials, and equally peculiar mercies. Early 
in the spring, I beheld in my beloved Elizabeth the 
seeds of disease; disease which I now believe must 
terminate in death, and which affects a part beyond 
the power of medical skill to reach, the brain. For a 
fortnio^ht, I felt a distress which cannot be described. 
But He, who has never, never left me in the season 
of trial, appeared, and turned the darkness of night 
into the light of noon-day. I gave her up to him, 
and found it better to trust in the Lord than to put 
confidence in man. O how were his everlasting 
arms put underneath and around me, and how ade- 
quate did I find them for my support. Never did I 
have so much spiritual enjoyment before. I did 
realize, that the sufferings of this present time, are 
not worthy to be compared with the glory which 
shall be revealed. I looked forward to the trial 
through which I have lately been conducted in sPtfe- 
ty, with a deep impression of the uncertainty of its 
issue. But I felt a strong confidence that heaven 
was my happy, happy home, which I might soon 
reach, and which appeared more lovely than language 
can express. Thus, my dear friend, can the blessed 
God sweeten the cup of sorrow which he puts into 
the hands of his children. Oh it is good to be in 
his hands, to have no will but his! 

The dear child, I think, very gradually declines. 
Whether this complaint will terminate in death, or 
the total absence of reason, and how^ soon, God only 
knows. I feel a strong assurance that. Vvdiether she 
lives or dies, she is the Lord's. And what is the 
chaff to the w^heat, the body to the soul9 May I 
be living as if this world v» ere not, as in fact it is 
not, my home. May you and I, and all our dear* 
friends, by our enjoyments and our sufferings, be 
prepared for that blessed place, where the inhabit- 
ants shall no more say, 'I am sick;' where all tears 
shall be wiped awayj where sin shall be destroyed. 



^3S MEMOIRS OF 

and the saint be imbibing more and more, through 
eternity, the image of Him who is perfect. 

You inquired, what is my method with my chil- 
dren at prayers, &c. I am ashamed that you should 
ask advice of me, who need counsel so much myself. 
But if I can suggest to you any new thoughts, I 
shall be very glad; and expect the same friendly 
office from you in return. I begin to have my chil- 
dren in the room at prayers, witTiin the month after 
their birth; and they ahvays continue to be present, 
unless they are sick, or are excluded the privilege as 
a punishment for having been very naughty. It is 
difficult, when they are quite young, to keep them 
perfectly stilL But the habit of thinking they are 
too young to be present at family devotion, is a bad 
one. And besides, if they do not come in, some 
one is obliged to remain out with them, and is thus 
deprived of a precious privilege and an important 
means of grace. After they get to be two years, or 
more, old, and are able to understand the meaning 
of your conduct, if they play, or in any other way 
make a disturbance, they may be taken out, and 
compelled to remain by themselves till the service 
is over; which will generally be felt by them to be 
so great a punishment, that they will not soon com- 
mit a similar offence. I v/ould not do this, however, 
on every slight deviation from perfect order, as chil- 
dren can not be expected to conduct like men. 

As to government, I have always mride it a rule 
never to give a child what it is passionately earnest 
to have, however proper the object may be in itself; 
because, otherwise, an association would immedi- 
ately be formed in the mind between importunity 
and success. Were a child always told, when he 
cries for a thing, 'You shall have it when you shew^ 
a proper temper,' it would soon teach him to be rea- 
sonable. I think it the destruction of government to 
be capricious, to refuse one day,what in circumstances 
not seen by the child to be different, is granted on 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 137 

another; to let fretting and teazing carry a point 
at one time, when, at another, they would bring 
punishment. Children very soon see whether we 
are consistent; and little deviations from an estab- 
lished rule, afford great encouragement for the next 
time. These little deviations do great mischief, and 
are often slidden into very imperceptibly by the 
parent, though the child is quick-sighted enough to 
observe them. 

One thing, my dear friend, I think of the great- 
est importance, and that is, that children be made 
(diuays to mind, and consider the parent's word as 
their law. Giving up once after a command has 
passed, may lay the foundation, and lead to the 
establishment, of a principle of insubordination as 
troublesome as unconquerable. For this reason, ab- 
solute commands should be as few as possible. I 
also think it dangerous to play with children in the 
way of command, saying, 'Do this or that,' when you 
do not mean that the thing must be done. It weak- 
ens parental authority. — I never like to tell very small 
children to kiss strangers, as they often feel a degree 
of backwardness very diiRcuit to overcome; and if 
they refuse, it is necessary to pass it over without 
compelling obedience, which should not be, or to 
have a combat with them before the company, which 
hardens them to reproof It is better to say, if a 
stranger orfer.s to kiss them and they refuse, and it 
is thought best to say anv thino:, 'Your kisses are of 
no great consequence, they may be dispensed with, 
I dare say.' This leads the child to think he is not 
of so much importancCj'^as he might otherwise be 
led to suppose. 

It is also very necessary to good government that 
punishments should be proportioned to offences. If 
we make no distinction between intentional and 
complicated offences, and careless inadvertencies, 
the child, by the frequent recurrence of these latter 
faults and the sharp rebukes they bring upon hinci, 
12- 



138 ivtEMoms OF 

will become so accustomed to severe reproof, that he 
will not mind it. Tenderness of heart is the mos 
powerful human engine of parental government; and 
w^hen this is lost, it seems to me all is lost, unless 
the grace of God interposes. The inevitable conse- 
quence of frequent reproof is, a heart blunted in its 
sensibilities, and unmoved by the parent's displea- 
sure. Of course, all temptations should, as much as 
possible, be put out of the way of children. Many 
little things should not be observed, which, if you 
were conscious the child knew you had observed, 
ought to be reproved. A harsh and angry tone 
should never be used, unless a gentle one has pre- 
viously failed- And I believe, where the authority 
of the parent is early established by the mild and 
gentle means, to some of which I have alluded^ 
severe measures need be resorted to very seldom! 

TO A FRIEND AT P. 

Boston, December 25, 1816. 

My dear friend. Last summer I received a letter 
from you, and also a copy of the constitution of 
your Maternal Association! The receipt of them 
would have been sooner acknowledged, had circum- 
stances permitted. But I trust it is not now too late 
to do so, and express the satisfaction they afforded. 
Since then, a few ladies in Boston, with some of 
w^hom you are acquainted, have formed a similar 
association, and adopted the same constitution." I 
trust we have found them useful meetings, I am 
sure they have been pleasant. 

The uncommon attention which is paid to the 
rising generation at the present day, is a token for 

■' Similar associations have since been formed in several other place?, 
and they have been found highly useful, both to mothers and to their 
children. The constitution and rules which have been comnioniy, 
adapted by these SQci^tieS; were publLsbe4 in the Boston Recorder 9t 
Dec. 18; 1824. 



HRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 139 

good. It is truly astonishing, however, that bap- 
tized children should, as such, be so sadly neglected 
by the churches to which they belong, as they now 
are; though it is a fact, which should be acknowl- 
edged with gratitude, that some churches have of 
late taken measures, as new^ as they are likely to be 
salutary, toward effecting a reformation in this par- 
ticular.^ 
I As to books for your Maternal Association, I am 

•^ w^illing to advise you as far as I am capable, though 
my knowledge upon the subject, whatever you may 
think, is extremely limted. Upon the w^hole, I 
give the preference to Locke and Witherspoon, 
above any other writers I am acquainted with, on 
the subject of education; though they are not per- 
fect. Some very few things in the latter appear to 
me unnecessary, and are perhaps impracticable 
Miss Hamilton's Letters are admirable, so far as 
they refer to the intellectual culture of the mind, 
and I may add to mere moral discipline. Her re- 
ligious opinions are quite exceptionable; but as they 
are not presented very prominently, are not likely 
to do much hurt, probably none to those whose 

"^ What the measures were to which Mrs. Huntington here alludeS;, 
the compiler is not informed. But; as the subject, though it has hitherto 
received little attention, is one of great importance, a brief account, 
it is presumed, will not be unacceptable to the reader, of a course of 
proceeding in relation to baptized children, which has been pursued 
with happy effect, in some churches in the middle and southern Slates. 
— Once a quarter, the baptized children, as such, are assembled, in the 
Church, with their parents or quardians. The children are placed to- 
gether in the body of the house; the parents and guardians are in the 
side pews, and, if more room is needed, in the gallery; and the Pastor 
and Elders before the pulpit. After singing aud prayer, the children 
arc solemnly addressed b} the iMinister; their peculiar relation to the 
Church is explained to them, their duties and oblign.tions are stated^ 
they arc told that the vows of God are upon them, &c. &c. Then the 
Pastor addresses the parents and guardians, explaining and enforcing 
their peculiar duties, in the presence of their children. He then turns 
to the Elders, and addresses them in relation to the duties, in regard 
to baptized children and their parents, incumbent on the Session, i. e. 
the Pastor and Elders. The exercises are then concluded with singing- 
£iad prayer and the apostolic benediction. — It is said, that wJiere this 
course has been faithfully pursued for a series of years, a very lar^e 
nroportion of the baptized youth are hopefully pious. 



140 



MEMOIRS OF 



minds are thoroughly imbued with correct princi- 
ples. I scarcely know a writer that has suggested 
so many useful thoughts to my mind as Miss Hamil- 
ton. I would by all means procure her Letters, if 
they can possibly be obtained. Miss Edgeworth, I 
am neither so w^ell acquainted with, nor so much 
pleased with, as others. She writes, in my view, 
too much like a theorist; some of her plans are quite 
visionary; indeed, in this country quite impracti- 
cable. Her stories, however, evince an uncommon 
knowledge of the human mind. Mrs. Grant's In- 
tellectual Education I have seen, but cannot say I 
was very much pleased with it. There are many 
useful hints in the work, but it is not so simple and 
practical as some others, and as such a work ought 
to be. There is a series of letters in the Christian 
Observer on the subject, I think in the 12th volume, 
which are uncommonly judicious. 

These helps, which God has afforded us, ought to 
make us more useful in our maternal capacity. They 
certainly call for gratitude. But, after all, if we 
w^ere better Christians, we should be more likely to 
make good mothers. Consistent, ardent piety, is 
the most essential qualification in a mother, for the 
proper education of her offspring. Children are 
more influenced by example, than by any thing 
else; and were our behaviour before them, at all 
times, circumspect, Christ-like; did not the ebulli- 
tions of passion, the spirit of worldly-mindedness^ 
and the love of selfish gratification, so often appear 
in our conduct, and utterly defeat our well-formed 
plans and good intentions, we should not so often 
have to complain, that we labour m vain, and spend 
our strength for nought. Alas! in correcting the 
faults of our children, how^ many faults do we find to 
correct in ourselves! Were it not that it is of God 
^vho sheweth mercy, there would be little encour- 
agement indeed. But, blessed be his name! there 
is encouragement sufficient to stimiilate to the most 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTIXGTOr. 141 

unwearied exertion. And those who diligently sow 
the seed, in humble dependence on his blessing, shall 
doubtless, sooner or later, reap an abundant harvest. 
Our x\ssociation meets the same day with yours. 
We wish you always to remember us on those days, 
as we shall you, and other similar institutions; and 
on all other occasions when it is proper. We need 
each other's prayers. 

February 26, 1817. I never felt as if I had more 
cause for gratitude, than now: every trial is so mer- 
cifully tempered. I enjoy the exhibitions of reason 
in my other children a thousand times more, on ac- 
count of dear Elizabeth's situation. God is very 
gracious to me, even in respect to her. She seems 
to suffer but little, and is a sweet, quiet child. This 
heart of stone, this flinty, stubborn heart, which 
can requite love so great with ingratitude, is, I 
think, my greatest trouble. I shall begin, the sixth 
of next month, which will be Elizabeth's birth day, 
to observe a quarterly fast on her account. 

March 15. Heaven looks very sweet. But I am 
sometimes led to fear, that such a vile creature, so 
little inchned to improve under the culture of the 
Gospel, can never enter it. Were the Christian re- 
ligion a delusion, it would be the most blessed delu- 
sion that ever smiled on the heart of man. But it 
is not, it cannot be, a delusion. Oh no: blessed be 
God! there is an inheritance, incorruptible, unde- 
filed, and that fadeth not away, reserving in heaven 
for those who obey the calls of his w^ord; and their 
afflictions, however severe, shall all be made to 
work for them a far more exceeding and eternal 
weight of glory. 

TO A FRIEND IN BOSTON. 

8arato,^a Spi-ings, June 20, 1817. 

We have been brought thus far on our journey in 
safety. My health is good, and Mr. Huntington's 



142 MEMOIRS OF 

evidently improving. We shall continue here a few 
days, and then set out for the Falls. 

In the society of such a place as this, a Christian, 
while he finds much that is pleasant, sees many 
things that give him pain. To hear one complaining 
of sorrows, for which, w^e feel, there is a balm which 
he knows not of, and another regretting past disap- 
pointments, and vainly promising himself ample 
remuneration in future gratifications, when we know 
there is a hope sure and stedfast of which he is igno- 
rant, without being able to speak of either, is revolt- 
ing to the spirit of philanthropy as well as of Chris- 
tianity. He is the wise man who is able to seize 
the "time to speak," and employ it properly. And 
it certainly argues a criminal indifference to the 
interests of our fellow creatures, or a deplorable fear 
of man, to be habitually and totally silent on those 
subjects, in such circumstances. 

Oh could the influence of the great world be 
throw^n into the scale of religion! Blessed be God! 
the time is coming when this will be the case. This 
expectation gives joy to my heart. Especially, my 
dear Miss L., I do earnestly desire that Boston may 
be visited with one of those vivifying and refresh- 
ing showers which cause the church to look forth 
fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as 
an army with banners. No blessing of a temporal 
nature — the increase of corn, and wine, and posses- 
sions, can be compared with it. This, if we are 
Christians, we must not only acknowledge, but feel. 
Lamentable inconsistency, that, feeling and acknow- 
ledo-inff it, we do so little to effect it! A few feeble 
desires avail nothing; our desires are equal, and 
only equal, to our efforts, for in every thing else, 
we judge of the strength of desire by what is actu- 
ally attempted. How then can we talk of desires 
for the advancement of true religion, when we do 
nothing to promote its extension^ Oh that a spirit 
of earnest longing, and of efficient doing, might be 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 143 

poured out upon professors in that dear metropolis 
where God has cast our lot. 



TO ANOTHER FRIEND IN BOSTON. 

Auburn^ June 28; 1817. 

There has been a great deal of rain since we left 
home; our journey has however been, on the w^hole, 
a pleasant one. My last letter was from Saratoga 
Springs, more than one hundred and fifty miles 
from this. We are surprised to find, how univer- 
sally this State is peopled, upon this road. It is quite 
amusing to think, how little I was prepared to find a 
country, thirty years ago a wilderness, more gener- 
ally settled than some parts of our own State, for 
instance, between Brookfield and Northampton. 
Thus far we have, every mile, seen cultivated lands, 
fine orchards, and good houses. Many of the build- 
ings are constructed with a neat and simple elegance, 
which is very gratifying to the traveller. We have 
been much pleased wdth some of the houses of 
worship. The land appears, generally, to be A^ery 
fertile, and seems to promise a liberal return for the 
labours of the husbandman. 

We passed the settlement of the Oneida Indians 
yesterday. You recollect that Mr. Kirkland v.as 
formerly Missionary among them. Their present 
•minister is a Mr. Williams, who, I hear, is a very 
w^orthy man. It is curious to see, how scrupulously 
they adhere to their ancient dress and customs, 
though in the midst of a civilized people. 

Auburn is quite a pretty village, something city- 
like in its appearance. Mr. Huntington has gone to 
call on the Presbyterian minister, while I am writ- 
ing. We are told there is a revival in his congre- 
gation, and that his house is filled, on the Sabbath, 
with anxiously attentive hearers. As to-morrow 
will be the Sabbath, we expect to hear him preach, 
and see his congregation. 



144 MEMOIRS OF 

Canandaigua, July 2. I intended to have fin- 
ished my letter before, but could not. We were 
much pleased with the appearance of the congrega- 
tion with which we worshipped, at Auburn, on the 
Sabbath. There is evidently a work of the Spirit 
among them. Between forty and fifty have obtained 
hope, since the commencement of the revival. The 
subjects of the work are, as is usually the case, 
mostly young people. The minister seems to be 
much engaged. It was truly delightful to spend a 
Sabbath in such circumstances. 

The roads have been so bad the last few days, that 
I feel quite fatigued, but hope I shall hold out to 
the end of our journey. How the hurried, noisy, 
and dissipated life some people lead, can be comfort- 
able, I see not. Tranquillity is as necessary to my 
happiness, as bustle seems to be to theirs. A constant 
round of incidents and company, is very distressing 
to my mind. And, what is especially to be lament- 
ed, it is with great difficulty that I can, in such cir- 
cumstances, keep up any savour of divine things. 

I have just received a letter from our beloved H. 
As cold water to a thirsty soul, is good new^s from 
those we love. There is nobody, after all, like our 
dear folks at home. May God bless them and us, 
and make us all blessings to each other. I seem to 
love you better for this temporary separation. Pleas- 
ing is the hope of soon meeting you again. But 
how^ much more pleasant, how cheering, is the hope 
of meeting in heaven! God forbid that any of us 
should come short of it. 

TO ANOTHER FRIEND IN BOSTON. 

Herkimer, July 18^ 1817. 

I fear you have begun to think me rather remiss 
in acknov, lodging the receipt of your letter several 
weeks ago. As I am certain, however, that you 
wall not charge such remissness to the want of affec- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. - 145 

tion on my part, I shall only say, I have been going 
from one place to another so constantly, that I have 
been unable to write as frequently as I wished. 
Since my letter to Miss P., from Canandaigua, we 
have been to the Falls, through BufFaloe; and, I must 
say, have been more gratified than I expected to be. 
The country the whole distance, with a few excep- 
tions, is delightftil. The ride from Black Rock, on 
the Canada side, to the Falls, is on the banks of the 
Niagara river; and this circumstance is sufficient to 
make it interesting. Add to this, that it was the 
seat of a considerable part of the last war, and you 
wall readily believe that it must be highly interest- 
ing. We saw spots on the grass of deep green, fer- 
tilized with human blood, and bones unburied. — As 
to the Falls, I shall not hazard a description of themj 
they are grand beyond description. 

Our journey has been a very pleasant one. We 
have been highly gratified with the appearance of 
things, in many parts of this State, in a religious 
point of view. We did not expect to see flourish- 
ing churches of two and three hundred members, and 
to behold the people flocking in crowds to the sanc- 
tuary, three times on the Sabbath, in this wilderness, 
as we had considered it. In many places religion 
is almost the only topic of conversation. I was 
particularly interested in our visit at Geneva, a most 
beautifully situated village, sixteen miles this side 
of Canandaigua. The good people there, seemed to 
think religion was in a dull and languid state among 
them. But I thought I found there a great deal of 
the very life and soul of it. Some of the ladies wilj, 
I hope, follow our example, and form a Maternal 
Association. At Buffaloe there is more than a usu^l 
attention to religion. 

Buffaloe is a delightfully situated place, on the 

bay, or whatever else it is called, where the waters 

of lake Erie enter the Niagara river. It is really 

very pleasant to see such a city-like place, grown 

13 



146 



MEMOIRS OF 



up, as if by enchantment, on the extremity of our 
western frontier. There is but one house, a l6g one, 
standing now, which survived the fire two years 
ago. The whole village beside was consumed. The 
people are still rather depressed by their late calami- 
ties, and have been somewhat straitened in building 
a house for public worship. They hope to receive 
some remuneration for their losses from the govern- 
ment.— Canandaigua is an elt^gant village; there is 
scarcely a poor house in the place. 

Has any thing of consequence transpired among 
you, or any of the churches, since we left Boston^ 
Soon, I hope, we shall see our dear home. Oh that 
we might find ^uch a time of refreshing from the 
presence of the Lord there, as has lately been expe- 
rienced in some of the towns through which we 
have passed!-— How are our dear little ones'] The 
Lord be their keeper, and preserve them from harm! 
Write me all about them, and direct to Worcester. 
Remember me most affectionately to all whom you 
know I love, and that is very many. Tell the chil- 
dren that we shall soon be home, if it please God. 
Kiss them all for us. — And now, my dear friend, 
adieu. May God be our God, and the God of ours, 
our guide and portion unto death! 



TO HER MOTHER, AT KILLINGWORTH, CONN. 

Boston J August 8, 1817, 

We arrived at home last night, and had the great 
comfort of finding our dear little ones in usual health; 
which is a peculiar mercy, for I am told, it is quite 
sickly in town. I hope this will find you more 
comfortable than you were when I left Killing- 
worth.^ Oh my dear mother, I did not expect to 

^ He^ mother was, at this time, afflicted with great bodily weakness, 
and with unusual spiritual darkness. From the latter she was soon 
mercifully delivered; and continued to enjoy peace oi mmd till the 
close of life. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 147 

see you so much altered and enfeebled. But I hope 
that God is dealing with you in covenant love; and 
if so, all your trials will be the means of fitting you 
more perfectly for the kuigdom of heaven. It is a 
great thing to grow better by suffering. God sends 
judoments, upon his children, to wean them from 
the world and from sin, and to make them moie like 
himself. I hope you will find that God is an unfail- 
ing refuge in every time oftrial. My dear mother, 
do not be discouraged but carry all your sorrows to 
Him by whose power all things are controlled. He 
will not suffer you to be tried, above what he will 
enable you to bear. Trust in the Lord Jehovah, with 
whom is everlasting strength. Those that wait on 
him, shall renew their strength, they shall never 
faint. Though he may see that his children need 
tRe rod, and, if I may use the expression in reference 
to him, be constrained, in faithfulness to visit them 
with it; yet, blessed be his name, to them, he always 
tempers the stroke with mercy. 

I long, dear mother, to have you enjoy again the 
light of Gods countenance, which will make all 
your burdens light. Keep near, I entreat you, to 
Him who is a sun and shield to his people. Wait 
upon him by constant prayer and supplication. Let 
sister read the Bible to you every day. Some of the 
sweet psalms of David are exactly suited to your 
case. He was, more than once, afflicted and ready 
to die, he was chastened sore; yet he was not deliv- 
ered over to spiritual death. The God v* hom he 
loved, in his heaviest hours, sanctified to him the 
overwhelming calamities, which sometimes seemed 
ready to swallow him up; and he could say, "God is 
our refuge and strength, a very present help in 
trouble; therefore will we not fear, though the earth 
be removed, and though the mountains be carried 
into the midst of the sea; though the waters thereof 
roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake 
with the swelling thereof," i. e. though the heaviest 



148 MEMOIRS OF 

calamities befal us. Happy, happy man! What real 
evil can touch those who have such a confidence in 
their Maker^ Some of Rippon's Hymns have been 
very precious to you in times past, let them be read 
to you now. 

Dear mama, strive to profit by the rod. Let sin 
be made more hateful to you by it, for this is the 
procuring cause of all sorrows. And try to glorify 
God in your tribulations. If his glory is near our 
hearts, our comfort and salvation are near his. 
There is one thing you can do. Say not that you 
live in vain. How much may you do by your 
prayers.'^ Does not your own soul need them? Do 
not your children in Killingworth need them? Do 
not we need them?- Does not Zion need them? So 
long as Christians can pray, they may do more good 
in the world, than the greatest of unsanctified heroes 
and conquerors. And now, my dear mother, adieu. 
May the God of mercy bless you, and prepare us to 
meet in heaven, for his dear Son's sake. 

Septemher 6. I think we are happy just in pro- 
portion as we are humble. When true humility 
possesses our souls, we are not wounded by the in- 
difference of others, because we feel that we are still 
treated more honourably than we deserve; neither 
do afflictions overwhelm us, because we feel that 
there is still much more occasion for gratitude than 
for complaint. Oh for the spirit of Jesus, who was 
meek and lowly in heart! 

TO A FRIEND IN N. H. 

Boston, September 23, 1817, 

When have you heard from Charleston? The sick- 
ness there makes me very anxious about our beloved 
Mary. Dear girl! were she to fall a victim to this 
distressing epidemic, how many hearts would bleed, 
how irreparable would be the loss to her family! 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTIXGTOX. 149 

But I hope, that the God, who has repeatedly carri- 
ed her through the most trying scenes, will still spare 
her, to contribute, by her pious and dismterested ex- 
ertions, to the comfort of those friends who had so 
often looked to her for it. I should feel her death 
deeply, for she has been to me a friend peculiarly 
suited to be useful in seasons of adversity; and how 
few such there are. Does her mother know how 
much danger she is inr If she does, in her feeble 
state, how greatly must she be afflicted. But so 
it is in this world. We must look only to heaven 
for uninterrupted rest. Happy they who have attain- 
ed that measure of faith which enables them to trust 
undismayed, in the unchangeable goodness and per- 
fect wisdom of Jehovah, when assailed by calamity. 
When you hear from Charleston, do let me know. 
I dread to look over the weekly list of deaths, lest a 
dear name should meet my eye. 

TO THE SAME. 

Bosien, September 24, 1817. 

Oh, my dear E., little did I think when I wrote 
last, that my anxious inquiries were to be answered 
so soon, and to receive such an answer. Your letter, 
containing the melancholy, the heart-rending tid- 
ings* has just been received. — And why should I say 
heart-rending tidings? Shall that be deemed heart- 
rending, which is so unutterably for her advantage 
and felicity? But when I think of her dear mother, 
feeble and broken, wanting just such a steady arm 
as hers to lean upon; when I think of the dear sister 
whom she has left in a land of strangers; when I 
think of the Church which had her fervent, daily 
prayers, such prayers as not many offer on earth; 
when I think of myself, the tender sympathy she 
felt for me in affliction, the undissembled and faith- 

* Of the death, at Charleston, S. C. of iMiss Mary LyoD; %v]io l!ad 
.long been one of her most intimate and endeared friends. 

13* 



150 MEMOIRS OF 

ful aftection she bore me, which survived years of 
separation^ and bore with all my frailties and follies; 
and then reflect that her friendship, her efforts, her 
prayers, for me, for others, for the Chmch, are all 
at an end; how can I help mourning, bitterly 
mourning? Oh God of mercy! let her mantle fall on 
us who remain! Let something of that meek, pray- 
erful, holy, Christ-like spirit, w^hich distinguished 
her, be communicated to us, and abide with us con- 
tinually! Alas! little did I think she was going 
to Charleston to find her grave. But she died 
as she lived — magnanimously, disinterestedly, and 
cheerfully sacrificing her own desires and comforts 
for others. And the righteous God will recompense, 
is recompensing her for it. 

Oh that my affections may be now detached from 
that world, which God would make more indiflFerent 
to me, by lopping from it my comforts, one after 
another! What manner of persons ought we to be 
in all holy conversation and godliness! It will be but 
a little time that we shall occupy a place among the 
living. Our friends are gomg into eternity very 
fast, and we that remain must live here as mourners. 
And if as mourners, our hearts will not settle very 
permanently on the empty shades of this dying 
world. 

TO HER MOTHER AT KILLINGWORTH. 

Boston, December 16, 1817. 

My dear mother. We received a letter from sister 
S., a short time since, informing us of your circum- 
stances, which, we most truly rejoice to hear, were 
then so comfortable. How much reason have you 
for everlasting gratitude to God for his gracious 
manifestations of himself to you! I long to hear that 
you are still rejoicing in his soul-comforting, soul- 
sanctifying presence; that you are still enabled to 
say, This God is my God, and he will be my guide 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 151 

and portion until death. Dear, very dear mama, how 
it comforted my heart to be informed of the comfort 
which you received. God is faithful. He is a strong 
tower into which the righteous runneth, and is safe. 
Trust in him; and, in every extremity, you will find 
him a sure and unfailing resting-place. 

Oh the blessedness of having God for our helper! 
But we must keep near to him. If his children 
transgress and forsake him. he removes that light in 
which they live^ and they are overwhelmed with 
sorrow. How much comfort do we lose by slack- 
ening our diligence in duty, and neglecting to watch 



against sin'] 



How oft have sin and Satan strove 
To draw mv beart from him I love. 



And, alas! how successfully, is the mournful language 
of every Christian. 

But, my dear mother, there is a world, where sin 
shall assault us no more; where the song of victory 
shall never be interrupted by regrets and lamenta- 
tions, v/here progress in knowledge and bliss shall 
be rapid, unceasing, and endless. Blessed world: does 
not the hope of it make the trials, the sufFerino;s, the 
conflicts, the wrestlings of this, comparatively easy? 
For that world, my mother, I believe you are pre- 
paring. Oh! keep heaven much in view. It will 
strengthen you to overcome those legions of corrup- 
tions, against which every Christian must fight till 
he dies. Be daily and hourly committing yourself 
to Him who is mighty to save; v/ho can, who, if you 
look to him, certainly will, strengthen you, to resist 
every sin, endure every pain, and bear every trial, to 
his glory. What a blessed thing to glorify God, in 
any way which he appoints! It is better to glorify 
God than to possess worlds! And this you may do. 
This you will do, if you go out of yourself, and seek 
all your supplies of grace and strength immediately 
from Christ! for he will then enable you to do it. 



152 MEMOIRS OF 

Dearest mother! may the God of mercy bless you! 
May the Saviour of sinners wash and justify you! 
May the Holy Ghost sanctify you wholly, in soul, 
body and spirit! And may you, and your unworthy 
child, spend an eternity together, in wondering at the 
grace which has saved us. 

December 25. My dear husband has been con- 
fined, about a fortnight, with a rheumatic fever. He 
is on the recovery, but is very w^eak. When he 
was first seized, I think, I felt it a pleasant thing to 
glorify God, in just that course of his providence 
which he should appoint, and that my present busi- 
ness w^as, cheerful acquiescence in his will, and an 
humble and faithful performance of the duties imme- 
diately resulting from this affliction. I think the 
confinement and the fatigue looked comparatively 
welcome, because they were the Lord's allotment. 
Especially I felt that I deserved the chastisement, 
and therefore could receive it with submission. But 
for a few days past, it has seemed as if Satan and my 
own corruptions were ready to swallow me up. I 
have been tossed with a tempest, and not comforted. 
My heart-sins have never seemed to me so dreadful 
as of late. 

And shall I give up the pursuit of holiness? Shall 
I cease to struggle for the victory over my formida- 
ble enemies? Shall I say, my hope is perished from 
the Lord'? Oh my God! where shall I find rest, but 
in thy love? Thou mightest justly abandon me. 
But, do I not love thee? Does not my soul cling to 
thee as its only hope? Does not thy law appear to 
me holy, just, and good: and conformity of soul to 
it, as more to be desired, than the actual enjoyment 
of all those dreams of earthly felicity with which 
mankind deceive themselves to perdition'? Oh help 
me^ Jesus, my strength, help me! Let not my cor- 
ruptions swallow me up! Answer me speedily, 
blessed Saviour; lest I become like them that go 
down to the pit! 



MRS. SUSAN HUxVTINGTOX. 



153 



TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. Y. 

Boston, December 19, 1817. 

The state of things here, in a religious point of 
view, is brightening. Much is doing, in various ways, 
for promoting the influence of truth. And we do 
hope, we think not without reason, that there will 
soon be seen here, an increase of real Christianity, 
more remarkable than has been experienced in Boston 
for a lonof time. — What is the state of thin2:s in N. Y. 
now? Does party spirit run as high as ever? I do 
not much wonder that some persons, seeing the bit- 
terness of such religionists against each other, should 
be led to think there is nothinoj in religion. But let 
them, as they certainly ought to do before they de- 
cide, examine the Scriptures with impartiality, and 
they will find that the -'wars and fightings," among 
Christians, differing only in non-essentials, proceed, 
not from the religious principle, but from those sinful 
'•lusts" which the Christian religion most pointedly 
condemns. The fruits of the Spirit, the fruits of 
genuine Christian principle, are love, joy, peace, 
long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, 
temperance. And they that are Christ's, have cru- 
cified the flesh, with the aflfections and lusts. 



TO HER SISTERS^ AT KILLINGWORTH, CONN. 

Boston. January 10. 381o, 

My dear sisters. The long expected, but melan- 
choly and afflictive, tidings of our beloved mother's 
dissolution, reached me on Wednesday last. The 
stroke has fallen; and we are without a parent. But 
the Psalmist says, ^'When my father and my mother 
forsake me, then the Lord will take me up." Oh 
to be taken up, to be adopted, taken into God's fam- 

* Children of her mother; but not of her father. 



154 MEMOIRS OF 

ily; to have him exercise over us the endearing, the 
^ watchful, the vigilant attention and care of an om- 
. niscient and almighty Parent! But in order to this, 
something is necessary on oar part. As God promises 
to be the husband only of the "widow indeed," so 
he promises to be the Father only of the orphan in- 
deed; of those who, disclaiming all other depend- 
ance, fly to him through Jesus Christ, as their best, 
their only portion; who feel the vanity of all human 
helpers; who love him with a filial and holy love; and 
who manifest their attachment by a hatred of sin, 
which he hates, by a pursuit of the holiness he en- 
joins, by a life of unreserved obedience to his law. 
For how can we love God, if we are careless of 
offending him? How can we, for a moment, think 
we love him: if we allow ourselves in anything he 
hates^ "This is the love of God, that we keep his 
commandments. He that saith, I know him, and 
keepeth not his commandments, is a liar, and the 
truth is not in him." My dear sisters, can we, with 
these passages of Scripture before us, appeal to our 
Master and future Judge, as Peter did, and say, 
"Lord! thou knowest all things, thou knowest that I 
love thee^" If so, then are we the children of God, 
heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ: then are 
we preparing for heaven, then our God will lead us, 
in a right way, to the city of habitation; he will 
smooth the path of life, or give us strength to sur- 
mount every di Hculty of the way, accompanying 
every cross with his blessing; and ultimately bring 
us to the heavenly Jerusalem, the inner temple of 
his glory, to the full and endless enjoyment of him- 
self in heaven. 

Is it so, my beloved sisters^ Dust and ashes, pol- 
lution and s[uilt as we are, does the infinite Jehovah 
allow us to indulge such a hope as this! And can 
we live in sinT Can we live without panting after 
grace to glorify Him much, from whom we have re- 
ceived alL^ Can we go on, day after day, and month 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 155 

after month, doing nothing for his glory, for his 
cause, for his people? Time flies. We are drawing 
near eternity. Our friends are, in rapid succession, 
called away. Our turn must soon come. And, oh! 
my heart is full while I think of it, what are we 
doing to make life pleasant in the retrospect, to give 
calmness and serenity to the dymg hour, to make 
eternity happy? What are we doing, which evinces 
our hope to be that \^hich maketh not ashamed, and 
which will receive the Master's gracious reward.^ 
These are inquiries in which we are all deeply con- 
cerned. Alas! what bitter self reproaches do they 
cause me to feel. Oh! for grace to have our lamps 
trimmed and burning, and to be waiting for the 
commg of our Lord. 

January 12, 1818. Since writing last in my 
journal, Mr. Huntington has so far recovered as to 
go to New London, and I have heard the mournful 
tidings of my dear mother's death. My mind was 
very deeply aiiected by this event at first; and I felt 
that my only refuge was that strength of my Al- 
mighty Saviour, for which 1 have so often pleaded^ 
with particular reference to these distressing provi- 
dences. I think I felt that his grace supported 
me. But to-night, I am called to weeping and lam- 
entation, not for the death of another friend, but for 
my sins. These are so numerous, and so powerful, 
that I groan being b^irdened. I have to contend with 
legions of inward enemies, who are readv to devour 
all that is in me of uprightness and holiness. Espe- 
cially a spirit of selfishness, which creeps into all 
my duties and desires, poisoning and polluting all, 
has been to-night, extremely distressing. My heart 
is pained within me for deliverance. This temper 
is as opposite to the temper of heaven, as any thing 
that can be supposed. It is the prolific parent, from 

I which proceed the murmurings and envyings, the 
strife and debate, the whisperings and backbitings. 



156 MEMOIRS OP 

and the nameless host of evil passions, which dis- 
tract the world and agonize the people of God. In 
my own case, the outvvard manifestation has been 
graciously prevented; but God knows, how like a 
fierce lion, though bound I humbly hope, it has been 
raging in my heart, and striving for the victory. 
And shall I be one day delivered? Yes, if I ever 
reach heaven. How inexpressibly delightful is the 
prospect! Blessed God, let me not come short of 
this rest. 

17. I feel an ardent desire to redeem the time 
more faithfully. The greater part of my past life 
looks like a miserable waste of this precious talent. 
How little that was purely religious have I done! 
Though my life has been active, alas! it has not 
been active for God. I long to reduce my religious 
principles to a system, that shall make them bear 
upon all that I do. This would not be so extremely i 
difficult if my heart was right. Oh! when will the 
time come, that I shall do more faithfully the work 
to which God has called me"? When shall I havej 
a constant reference to divine things, in the daily] 
round of my duties^ 

21. I think I have felt, to-day, some strength! 
of purpose to follow hard after God, till these legions 
of in-dwelling sins are subdued. How inexpressibly 
delightful heaven looks, where they never, never 
sin! But, oh! can such an one as I, hope for this 
blessedness? If this vile heart is a temple of the 
Holy Ghost, God Avill at last lay the top-stone,! 
amidst the shoutings of, Grace, grace unto it, from 
both angels and men. Let me then take courage, 
apply for strength to my great High Priest, and not 
faint in the time of trial. God will not suffer me 
to perish by the hands of my enemies. Let me re- 
solve to wrestle, and strive, and agonize against my 
sins, and never give over the conflict till I have ob- 
tained the victory. Keep me waiting on thee, O Thou 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 1 5T 

help of my soul! and I shall receive courage, and 
shall conquer.^ 

22. If I am not deceived, I do feel the precious- 
ness of a throne of grace, something of a contrite 
spirit in view of myself, and a sincere desire never, 
never again to sink into that dreadful worldly frame, 
in which I have been of late, but from which, for- 
ever blessed be his name! God has granted me a 
partial deliverance. My heart is affected by the 
long-suffering and forbearance of my God. I do long- 
to be an humble, obedient child. My prevailing- 
emotions are, I think, grief and sorrow that I am 
not more humble and broken-hearted. The tears of 
penitence are refreshing tears^ yes, they are re- 
freshing tears. Oh, to shed more of them, to weep 
for my sins from my inmost soul! And now, oh 
my Helper! give me strong purpose of mind, and 
assist me with thy almighty grace, to cleave unto 
thee henceforth and forever! 

23. I still feel a sweet calm within; can go to God 
the Father, as my reconciled Father and Friend, to 
God the Son, as my compassionate and almighty 
Redeemer, to God the Spirit, as my Sanctifier, Com- 
forter and Guide. I feel a strong desire to hate: 
sin more, to resist it more, to watch against its first 
aim at dominion, to strike a firm and effectual blow 
against its power, and its very existence in my heart. 
Blessed Spirit! 

I hate the sins which made thee mourn 

And drove thee from my breast! * 

^ In this extract, it may not he amiss to remark, is exhibited the 
legitimate influence of the doctrine of the perseverance of the saints, 
^'It is not designed to comfort even true Christians, in sloth and luke- 
warmness; it being much better for them, in such a state, to be pat in 
great fear; but to cheer the diligent, active, thriving Christian, in hi& 
conflict with Satan and the corruptions of his ov/n heart; that while 
fighting, animated by the assurance of^ictory, he may fight manfully, 
when otherwise he would be discouraged by fears lest all should be iii 
vain/'^ The legitimate and when rightly received, the certain influence 
of the doctrine, therefore, is, to make diligent, active, and thriving 
Christians. See letters and Papers of the late Rev. Thomas Scott^ 
D. D., first Boston edition, p. 2C2. 

14 



158 MEMOIRS OF 

February 12. What a poor dying world is thisi 
Strange I should ever feel at rest here, as if this were 
my home, and my dear enjoyments were secured to 
me for a long time to come! My friends are all 
dying, or losing friends; and we are all hastening to 
eternity, fast, very fast. — I am anxious about my 
dear husband. His lungs have been very tender of 
late; he has a severe cold, and is afflicted with a 
pain in his side. — These things, viewed in con- 
nexion with his numerous and arduous duties, alarm 
m_e much. But, I desire to leave all with God! 
He hath done, he will do, all things well. Such 
an event as my husband's death, the almighty grace 
of God alone could prepare me for, or carry me 
through. The very thought seems too burden- 
some for a worm like me. But, whatever of trial 
my God may call me to in this vale of tears, I can 
only plead that he will sustain me, and enable me to 
glorify his holy name. 

March 9. I have heard a remark to-day respect- 
ing myself, calculated to give, and which has actu- 
ally given me pain. It was that I could not bear 
to be contradicted. I am sincerely desirous to profit 
by this observation. I hope it will not be lost. 
1 pray God to enable me to improve by it. I want 
to feel a noble, Christian superiority to human opin- 
ion, when it clashes with duty, infringes upon the 
claims of my Master, or is, in any way, a snare to 
me in my progress heavenward. And I long, when 
there is any ground for the strictures which others 
make upon me, to be enabled to turn them to profit, 
and to redouble my watchfulness over myself. And, 
alas! alas! how much is there to mend which the 
world does not see! I am overwhelmed with confu- 
sion in view^ of some parts of my past life. Oh! to 
live more holily and unblameably, in time to come! 

11. It is a common remark, that the characters of 
men are, for the most part, pretty justly appreciated; 
that the decisions which are passed upon them, by 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 159 

the great tribunal of public opinion, are usually, a 
safe standard for the formation of private judgment. 
This may true in general: and yet, I am inclined 
to think,' there are many exceptions to the rule. A 
man may have the reputation of being generous. 
And why? Because, in a few showy and popular 
instances, he has been so; while his private life, may 
have been marked with all the bitterness of a mean 
and parsimonious economy. The w^orld are apt to 
judge of a man's character by a few splendid acts. 
or lamentable miscarriages. This is especially the 
case with those, who are not accustomed to follow 
the man, with the accuracy of a discriminating ob- 
servation, to his family, where the stimulus of pub- 
lic inspection has subsided, and see what he is there. 
1 think it can never be pressed too earnestly upon 
the young, that character is not what a person does, 
or is, once a year, or once in half a dozen years, but 
what he is and does habitually. A very generous 
man may, from mistake, or from some other cause, 
do what will appear the excess of littleness. A very 
meek man, may from the pressure of perplexing 
circumstances, get so much off his guard, as to utter 
things unadvised and improper, vvhich he would 
weep tears of blood to recal. A very humble man 
may be placed, by the imputation of charges which 
he knows to be false, in a situation so irksome, as 
to induce him to defend himself, with a tone and 
manner, entirely foreign from the general disposition 
and habit of his mind. Novv^ these striking overt 
acts, are often those v/hich are laid hold of by the 
world, and determine its judgment upon character. 
It is extremely important that children should be 
early taught, to distinguish between appearances and 
realities; else they will be continually in danger of 
adopting the egregious follies and palpable corrup- 
tions of persons, whose few splendid virtues may 
have excited their admiration, and of avoiding an 
acquaintance with persons the most worthy, because 



160 MEMOIRS OF 

a few weaknesses or inconsistencies, appearing in 
their behaviour, have produced disgust. Nothing, 
in such a world as this, can be more foolish than to 
renounce a friend, because we have found him to be 
imperfect. 

April 4. I have lately had many fears that my 
heart has never been thoroughly humbled, that I 
have never been made to see the righteousness of 
God in threatening eternal punishment as the reward 
of sin, especially of my sins. I fear I have never seen 
the real desert of sin. This I esteem exceedingly im- 
portant. I am apprehensive that though many say they 
feel that they deserve everlasting misery, it is often 
an inconsiderate assent to a generally acknowledged 
truth, rather than an inwrought conviction, produced 
by the Holy Spirit. I long to have my mind more 
enlightened on this subject. — Yet, the government 
of God appears to me a most righteous, holy, wise, 
benevolent, and perfect government. I think I re- 
joice in it. If I do not, I cannot say what I rejoice 
in. I think I see and feel, that the blessed God could 
not, consistently with the honour of his law and the 
welfare of his kingdom, take the sinner to heaven in 
an unsanctified state. The idea of never obtaining the 
rest that remaineth for the people of God, of never 
being conformed to the image of my Saviour, is 
heart-rending, I have not taken up my rest in this 
world. I do long for holiness, for the holy employ- 
m^ents and joys of heaven. In giving up the hope 
of being made complete m the likeness of God, it 
seems to me, that I should give up ail that makes 
life supportable. 

8. The case of our dear church and people has 
lain upon my mind this morning, with even more 
weight than that of mv own children. I feel that I 
must plead earnestly and perseveringly with God, 
that he will be pleased to glorify himself in the spir- 
ituality and enlargement of this church. Oh! that 
it may be a pure, strong, and beautiful temple of 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. iGl 

the Lord Jesus Christ. Some particular circum- 
stances have thrown a shade over my mind. But I 
do feel as if I could follow after God to overrule 
whatever appears dark or unpropitious, not only for 
his own glory, but for our spiritual good. And oh! 
that he would be graciously pleased to spare my 
dear husband, and enable him to gather in the 
spiritual harvest that appears to be at hand. Twenty 
or thirty in our congregation are inquiring. Lord! 
disappoint not our hopes. Purge out and destroy 
whatever does, or would, hinder the work! And 
pour out a blessing upon us, till there shall not be 
room enough to receive it! 

May 2. I have enjoyed some comfortable mani- 
festations of Christ as the Intercessor of his people, 
which have diffused a precious tranquillity over my 
mind for many days. To think of him as the spirit- 
ual Aaron, who, having put av/ay sin by the sacrifice 
of himself, now stands, and will ever stand, in the 
inner temple, to bear all the names and cases and 
wants of his people, as Aaron bore on his breast- 
plate the names of the twelve tribes, is sweet indeed. 

TO A BROTHER-IN-LAW, AT B^. 

Boston, May 1818. 

You ask how I like Cecil's Remains. Much, for 
the most part. But there appears to have been some- 
thing of severity in his character, something more 
of the determined scholar, than the amiable Chris- 
tian. 

I am not pleased with his remarks upon my sex. 
This, you will say, is a matter of course. How- 
ever, if I am not deceived, I object to his insinua- 
\ lions, not as a woman, but as a Christian, as a mem- 
ber of God's universal family, and as a friend to the 
interests of both sexes; having, I humbly believe, 

^ This extract was published in the Boston Recorder of June 2, 1818. 
14^ 



162 MEMOIRS OF 

learned, in view of this subject, to cease from man 
whose breath is in his nostrils, and to feel that if any 
one would be honourable in God's view, he must 
be willing to become nothing. 

In his remarks on the marriage of Ministers, 
Mr. Cecil says, "A Minister must stand on his own 
ground when associating with women, and not de- 
scend to mingle among them." "Thought is the 
characterizing feature of men, and feeling of w^o- 
men.'' By the first remark, does Mr. C. intend to 
say, that a Minister must not bring himself to a level 
with the giddy, the volatile, the thoughtless, of our 
sex? Or does he mean that all women are so? My 
opinion has been, that, by cultivating habits of ra- 
tional intercourse between the sexes, the real good 
of both parties would be promoted; that the men 
would become more social and refined, without 
losing their strength, and the women more sound, 
without losing their gentleness. 

Is not the tendency of the above remarks likely 
to be unfavourable to both sexes? Are they not 
calculated to produce in the minds of men, an over- 
weening opinion of their own importance, a loftiness 
of spirit, contrary to the temper of the meek and 
lowly Jesus, and inimical to the growth of religion 
in the soul? Are they not likely to be equally de- 
teriorating in their influence on the female mind? 
Will not the woman infer that, if the case be so, it 
is not necessary for her to cultivate her mental pow- 
ers; that she may as well confine her views and her 
thoughts, so far as she thinks at all, to that contracted 
sphere comprehended under that general term self, 
as to endeavour to expand her benevolence by en- 
larging her knowledge? Will she not be in danger 
of becoming the despicable slave of a morbid sen- 
sibility which she has not learnt to controul by being 
told that she was made for feeling rather than reflec- 
tion? Alas! how can woman, subject to the accu- 
mulated vexations of outward temptation and con- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. l63 

stitutional frailty, be expected to endure the evils 
of life with firmness, when the whole tendency of 
her education has been to enervate the energies of 
the mind, induce loose habits of thinking, and un- 
dermine the government of reason? 

But the chief objection I have to Mr. Cecil's re- 
marks on this subject is, that they are calculated to 
deprive women of that respect in their own families, 
which is necessary to the proper management of 
children. Now this I deem of incalculable import- 
ance. Let the sons of a family lose their respect 
for their mother, and it will be utterly impossible 
for a substitute for natural authority to be found. I 
do not hesitate to say, (and I do not say it rashly, or 
without much examination of the subject,) that those 
families, where the character of the mother is de- 
pressed to that of a mere housekeeper, are never 
well governed; and that, on the contrary, the sons 
of those mothers, whose rank in the family author- 
ises them to be counsellors of their children, are 
in childhood more amiable, and in manhood more 
worthy, than others. If children are not under the 
government of their mothers, they must necessarily 
be left very much to their own guidance, and ex- 
posed to early associations unfriendly to virtue. 
Their characters vAW be mostly formed by the influ- 
ence of adventitious circumstances; unless, indeed, 
the father can oversee them constantly, which is 
rarely the case. The father requires the boy to obey 
his mother, and perhaps gives him long lessons on 
the subject; but of how much weight they wiH be, 
in turning the scale between duty and inclination, 
when the child sees that the father does not respect 
her himself, it requires but little sagacity to conjec- 
ture. The habit of trifling, of dissimulation, and of 
rebellion, is thus acquired; and, if grace effects an 
alteration in the state of the heart afterwards, it cer- 
tainly operates under circumstances unfavourable to 
its growth. 



164 



MEMOIRS OF 



There is also another evil resulting from the opin- 
ion above stated. It is the interruption of domestic 
peace. Such an opinion introduces pride, and per- 
tinacity, and imperiousness, on the one hand, and 
jealousy and enmity, on the other, among brothers 
and sisters; and, in this way, is destructive of the 
best principles and affections of our nature. 

There are those w^ho think, that if women are 
treated as equals, they will aspire to dominion, or 
will not ^'be in subjection, with reverence," to their 
husbands. I am of a contrary opinion. We can 
never yield unwillingly, when we think the duty of 
doing so is unquestionable. But we always give 
with the w^orst grace, what is extorted. We are 
always the most generous, when left free. The en- 
lightened obedience of a sensible woman is consist- 
ent, because it is the dictate of reason; it is seen to 
be necessary, in the constitution of things, and for 
the preservation of order in the various departments 
of the creation of God. The capricious subjection 
of a weak and ill-informed woman, is that of a slave; 
and, not being properly conceived of, in the first 
place, is likely to be disputed, or submitted to with 
reluctance. 

But nothing can be more idle than to dispute the 
point of equality with our brethren. Time is too 
short to waste in this way. And besides, by society 
at large, every individual will, generally, be re- 
spected in proportion to his merits. If we would 
have influence, we must prove, in the first place, 
that we deserve it. But every one in his order. 
The moment a woman steps out of her proper sphere, 
she ceases to be, in proportion to her deviation from 
the path prescribed her, either amiable or respecta- 
ble. And, in my judgment, were women blessed 
with an enlightened education, and taught to view 
the subject of female subordination in a philosophical 
and scriptural way, they would, not only be much 
greater helpers and blessings to their husbands and 



MRS, SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 165 

children, but in much less danger of usurping that 
authority which God and nature have delegated to 
the other sex. 



TO A FRIEND IN BOSTON, 

New Haven, July 21, 1818. 

My dear Mrs. , ^^Be not faithless, but believ- 
ing," is an injunction, obedience to which would 
contribute as much, to our happiness, as to the glory 
of God. But, though I fear the state of my mind 
is not more distinguished by the grace of faith than 
when I left Boston, I do not feel the same anxious 
solicitude about my family which I did then. The 
mind, I suppose, cannot be strongly exercised on 
one subject, when it is constantly and powerfully 
affected by many separate and remote interests. I 
have been passing so rapidly from one scene to an- 
other, and have felt so many different emotions, 
since I left home, that I have scarcely had an op- 
portunity to be anxious. While I was at New Lon- 
don, my time was entirely occupied with attentions 
to our sick father; and since I left that place, I have 
been scarcely less engaged. 

I fear, my dear friend, that I shall return, know- 
ing that I have done little or no good on my journey. 
Were it not that I do not like speaking about my- 
self, I could fill my sheet with an account of my 
great stupidity and unfruitfjlness. But it would do 
no good. x\nd, as such complaints are often mistaken 
for humility, it is, perhaps, well to make them but 
seldom. To our Christian friends we may, to be 
sure, speak of our spiritual sorrows, without much 
danger of being misunderstood. I believe Chris- 
tians, in general, are lamentably deficient in living 
the religion they profess. It is easy to talk; it is 
not difficult to profess: but to do, — to do justly, to 
love mercy, and to walk humbly with our God, is 
(]uite another thing. When we compare our feel- 



166 



MEMOIRS OF 



ings with the experience of prophets and apostles, 
how faint a resemblance do we find"? And yet, rehg- 
ion is the same now as ever — the demands of God 
as universal, and our obligations as great and bind- 
ing. 

TO A FRIEND AT N. H. 

New London, August 4; 1818. 

My dear E., When I took up my pen, I hesitated, 
for a moment, whether my letter should be for Bos- 
ton or New Haven. Inclination for the latter pre- 
vailed. I will not say, New Haven friends were 
never so dear to me as now. That were idle. But 
I may say, that I feel an awakened interest in them 
at present, which a long separation from them had, 
perhaps, somewhat blunted. I think an occasional 
visit to a place we have once loved, and which is the 
residence of early friends, is desirable, to keep alive, 
if not the enthusiasm of youthful attachments, those 
w^armer endearments of the heart, by which it dis- 
criminates some places, and some persons, from the 
rest of the world. 

I have been thinking, my dear friend, about the 
weakness of your eyes. I am sorry you should be 
tried in this way upon your first setting out in life. 
And yet, if you are a Christian, God loves you in- 
finitely better than I do; and he might prevent it, if 
he chose. Now if he does not prevent it, he sees 
that you could not do without this trial. When you 
can, he will remove it. O how sweet is the reflection, 
that the work of the Lord is "perfect;" that all 
his ways are faithfulness and mercy; that all his dis- 
pensations shall work together for good to them that 
love him! — As to this world, we shall both experi- 
ence many interesting, and, perhaps, what may be 
deemed adverse, vicissitudes. But, if they ripen 
us for a place at God's right hand, it is well. While 
we can look at the things which are not seen and 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 167 

eternal, every burden will be lightened, every sorrow 
sweetened. If we are Christians, we are passing 
through a wilderness to heaven; and though God 
may give us many precious comforts here, it is but 
a wilderness still. I long habitually to view it so; to 
realize my mercies, to enjoy them rationally; but to 
feel that while I am at home in the body, I am ab- 
sent from the Lord. 

September 5. At Boston. O how time flies! 
And how many painful scenes have I passed through, 
since I last vvTote in my journal! I have been par- 
ticularly tried in the death of Mrs. C, a member of 
our church, a woman very dear to my heart, and a 
lovely Christian. I have also been seven weeks in 
Connecticut, to visit my husband's sick, and, I fear, 
now dying, father. We left him better. But he is 
again worse; and Mr. Huntington has been again call- 
ed to him, and is now there. I am expecting every 
day, either to hear that his father is mending, or to 
receive a summons to New London. I have been 
somewhat dejected in mind, of late, from another 
cause. My husband's health is feeble; and the fear 
that he will have to leave Boston, or soon die under 
his labours here, has hung as a heavy weight upon 
my heart. 

And now what shall I say? Constituted, as I am, 
with strong feelings, susceptible nerves, and a heart 
prone to forebode evil, what should I do without re- 
ligion? This, I often feel, is the only anchor that 
holds me from drifting into the gulph of despair. 
Oh! if the religion of Christ v/ere false, as the infidel 
tries to make us think, what would become of me? 
Now, when labouring with grief, and, at times, 
ready to sink, the precious truths of the Gospel are 
sometimes sent to my mind, for my relief, with an 
efficacy altogether superior to any other sources of 
consolation. I pillow my aching head on its pre- 
cious promises, and I find rest. Oh my God, why 



168 MEMOIRS OF 

dost thou thus fly to my relief? Why, wretch thai 
I am! am I not left to my idols? Break, oh break, 
hard, stony heart, at the long suffering of thy 
God. 

And now Lord! I would trust thee for the future. 
I would hate and forsake the sins which separate 
my soul from thee. Blessed Redeemer! wilt thou 
not strengthen the creature that longs to serve thee 
more faithfully. 

TO A FRIEND IN BOSTON. 

Neic London, September 10; 1 818. 

My dear H. I arrived here in safety, on Wed- 
nesday evening. Our father is more comfortable 
than I expected to find him; though, pretty certainly, 
approaching his end. His mind is, as usual, perfect- 
ly quiet; and his death is likely to be as peaceful, as 
his life has been exemplary. I thmk we can some- 
times see the good effects, of such a uniform, con- 
sistent life of piety, in this world, in a gracious 
reward, corresponding in its nature to the course of 
life pursued. Although salvation is, neither wholly, 
nor in part, of works; is it not likely that a careless, 
w^orldly life, most commonly, obscures and darkens 
the spiritual prospects, even of the Christian, in his 
last moments? 

October 5. At Boston. My husband is again in 
New^ London. His father has gone to his rest. And 
it is glorious. Oh! to be accounted Vv^orthy to enter 
into that rest! But now is the time for working. 
Those who diligently do the will of God, may safely 
leave the disposal of their final state with him. I 
know that my heart is, beyond all expression, de- 
ceitful. But I do long to be able, day by day, to 
stir myself up to take hold on God in Christ, to keep 
near to him, to live upon him- and to glorify him in 
my body and spirit, which are his. 



MR?, SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 1^^ 



TO A SISTER-IN-LAW AT N. Y. 

Boston, October 12, 181:8. 

Though all the children must feel the loss of your 
excellent father, yet dear mother and E*, are the 
sufferers. Death seems to be almost another thing, 
where an immediate view of all with which a departed 
friend was connected is constantly presented to the 
eye. Yet it is indeed, in itself, heart-rending to be- 
hold the vacancies which the hand of death makes 
in a family, and remember, that the places w^hich 
once knew the absent one, will know him no more 
forever. But if we loved God more, and had more 
faith, we should not be so much affected by these 
things. 

Is not the state of your dear father an enviable 
one? I think I do feel that it is. Who can tell what 
blessedness it is, to be perfectly delivered from sin. 
to be admitted to the immediate and perfect vision of 
God; and, what is more, to be made complete in his 
likeness? Who can tell what blessedness it is, to 
cast off that body of death which cramps and clogs 
all our spiritual efforts in this life, to have a sanctifi- 
ed understanding enlarged so as to know even as we 
are known? 

And is all this a cunningly devised fable? Oh no* 
The Christian knows that his Redeemer liveth; and 
that, if his hope of being a Christian is not a false 

i one, he shall see him as he is. Christianity pours a 
flood of light into the dark valley of the shadow of 

\ death; tells the soul, about to leave all it loved here, 
of better friends and better joys in heaven; and en- 
ables it to say, 'Thanks be to God, who giveth me 
the victory through Jesus Christ my Lord!' And 
shall we not labour and pray, that this religion may 
become universal? 

* A sister-in-law, residing with her widowed mother; at New Loncfon 

15 



170 



MEMOIRS OF 



You ask about Elizabeth. She is no better. This 
is indeed a great tnal. But I feel that God has 
made it very light compared with my deserts. We 
must all have trials; and we should be more anxious 
to profit by them, than to escape them. If we are 
Christians, we shall be carried safely through the 
wilderness, and lodged at last in the promised land. 
Let us pray for each other, that w^e may not come 
short of that rest. 

TO ANOTHER SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. L. 

Boston, October 12; 1818. 

I left New^ London with deep regret. Not that I 
flattered myself that I could be any help to my dear 
friends there, (it being m} lot to receive, rather than 
confer, such favours), but because I felt deeply inte- 
rested for them m their trying situation. I felt that 
kind of solicitude, which consists in a painful desire 
to know all that takes place in reference to those we 
love. But it is no matter now^ And if I may be 
accounted worthy to meet the object of the concern 
I felt in heaven, it will be enough. Dear sister! if 
we are heirs of God, and preparing for an inherit- 
ance among the saints in light, oh what a meeting 
W'ill it be! Surely, they that have this hope should 
endure their trials with patience, and should purify 
themselves as Christ is pure. If we are Christians, 
a few more conflicts, and trials, and sufferings, and 
we also- shall be admitted to the rest that remaineth 
for the people of God. How important, that we 
should "stir ourselves up to take hold on God," lest 
we perish through our supineness and unbelief. 

It is a great thing to be saved. It is a wonderful 
thing for a sinner to be prepared to spend an eternity 
W'ith a holy God! May he grant, for his mercy's 
sake, that the late sorrowful dispensation may be a 
rod to every one of us gentle indeed, but efficacious 
to drive us to Him, who is a rock of defence, a strong 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON 



171 



lower, a refuge in the hour of trial and death! I feel 
a strong desire that it may also be sanctified to your 
church. I wish to have them feel that a mighty 
one has fallen among them, and that it is necessary 
that they should plead earnestly with the King in 
Zion, to fet the mantle of this ascended Elijah fall on 
those who are left behind. The death of such a 
man is a great loss Lo the Church. But God can 
raise up many such. He will, however, be inquired 
of, by his spiritual Israel, to do this thing for them. 
Remember me affectionately to our dear mother. 
and tell her I think much of her, and hope she will 
find, that the absence of the dear friend who was with 
her so long, is more than made up, in the presence 
of that God, who has graciously styled himself the 
husband and judge of the widow. 

His arm can well sustain 
The children of his love! 

Odoher 16. I called in, by accident, as we say, 
to-day, at a miserable lookmg house, where I foimd 
a poor afflicted woman, of twenty or twenty-three 
years of age, whose case affected me much. She 
has one child three months old, and one eighteen 
months old; is in miserable health herself; and has 
an intemperate, unkind husband. She appeared 
broken hearted, and almost bereft of reason. :ihe 

was born in , attended Mr. M,'s ministry, and 

was once the subject of serious impressions. But an 
imprudent marriage has ruined her, at least for this 
world. She is in a wretched, dirty hovel, with her 
husband's father and mother, and a flock of misera- 
ble children: all of them are addicted to drink; quar- 
rels among parents and children till midnight, are 
frequent. I saw only the mother-in-law. But the 
scene I witnessed was an emblem of hell. The poor 
young woman is in a state little short of despair. 
She says it is impossible for her to have a moment 
alone, and that her husband, and mother-ni-law, will 



172 



MEMOIRS OF 



not let her read the Bible. She said to me, ''Oh! if 
I could go up and stay at your house but one night!" 
It seemed as if God had directed us to the place; I 
hope for good. I cannot keep this poor young crea- 
ture out of my mind. If God sent us there to be 
the instruments of saving this soul from death, what 
a mercy it will be! Oh that the Redeemer would 
pluck this helpless one out of the jaws of the lion! 

TO A FRIEND IN P. 

Boston, Ocioherll, 1818. 

Must not every Christian feel, that no stripes 
which his heavenly Father inflicts, are any thing to 
him, compared with the conflicts he has to maintain 
with a heart of unbelief, and a nature prone to 
evil"? When we are enabled to look steadily at the 
things which are not seen and eternal, and, what is 
more, to place our affections upon them, how it 
smooths the roughness of this w^orld; how it light- 
ens every burden, and sends us on our way rejoic- 
ing! 

I do not know, however, but we are in some danger 
of calculating too much upon our enjoyments Aere, 
even our spiritual enjoyments. I suppose w^e should 
be more solicitous to do the will of God, and glorify 
him, and benefit those about us, than to obtain even 
spiritual comfort. Perhaps, however, I am wrong 
in thus separating duty and comfort, even in con- 
templation; for the most direct way, the only effectual 
way, to obtain and preserve spiritual comfort, is to he 
diligent and constant in the performance of all known 
duty. If we faithfully aim to do the will of God, he 
will, in his own time and way, make our fidelity 
yield us the peaceable fruit of righteousness. And 
should we not be willing, that he should do it in his 
own time and way.^ We instruct our children, we 
pray for them, w^e pour on them the strength and 
agony of our solicitude; and then we, probably, 



]\rris. SUSAN huntington. 173 

(expect the comfort of seeing some fruit of all this. 
And we should expect to see it; but, in God's time 
and Avay. It is ours to labour and pray; all the rest, 
let us leave with him. 

The greatest outward trial I have at present, is 
the state of my dear husband's health. Not that he 
has any fixed complaint; but he is constantly predis- 
posed to a cold and hoarseness, which, for a minis- 
ter, in this age and in this climate, is very much to 
be dreaded. I believe your husband has been affect- 
ed in this way. Did you not find it more difficult 
to exercise faith and submission then, than at any 
other period of your lifer '-My son," saith God, 
'•despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor 
faint when thou art rebuked of him," In contem- 
^plating the afflictions of life, I feel more afraid of 
fainting, than of any thing else. Perhaps I actually 
am in most danger of rebelling, perhaps of despising;; 
for my heart is deceitful above all things, and des- 
perately wicked. But I know that I am weak, 
weakness itself. And were it not for the humble 
hope that help, my help, is laid on One who is 
mio^htv, not onlv for salvation, but for strensth, to 
do, to bear, to suffer, I cannot say where I should go, 
what I should do. 

TO A FRIEND IN N. 

Bcston, November 3, 1818. 

I am unwilling that Mr. B. should return, without 
bearing to you the expressions of our sincere 
sympathy in your present affliction, v/ithout telling 
you how truly we are concerned for your sorrow; 
and that we are not without strong hopes of our 

dear 's final and perfect restoration."^ I knew 

a young lady, several years since, in , who was 

deranged a whole summer, and was restored without 



"* A daughter of the hidy to whom this letter was written; was thCA 
in a state of mental derangement. 

15* 



174 MEMOIRS OF 

the slightest symptom, to my knowledge, of the dis- 
ease since. I believe I mentioned to you, when we 

were last at yom* house, the similar case of , of 

this town. She is now perfectly well. 

But after all, I know, (may I not say, by experi- 
ence?) that there is no resting place short of a cordial 
willingness to have God do what he pleases. And 
is he not worthy to govern? Are not our interests, 
and those of our dear ones, safer in his hands than 
they would be any where else^ So long as he has 
infinite love for his children, to will all that he sees 
to be best for them, and infinite power to execute all 
the purposes of his will, may he not safely be trusted? 
And, supposing the worst, suppose it should please 
God to conduct our dear through the whole wil- 
derness of life under the shade of this thick cloud, 
would not the mercies of the dispensation infinitely 
outweigh its calamities? Is she not beloved of our 
heavenly Father*] Has he not pledged his honour, 
that all things shall work together for her good? Is 
she not graven as a signet upon his heart? Shall she 
iiot be led in a right way, the way best for her soul, 
though it be dark and inscrutable to us? Oh! yes. 
Surely He, who for her sake, spared not, but de- 
iivered up, his own Son, will, with him, also give 
her all other necessary things. If she is a Christian, 
as we have good reason to believe she is, God loves 
tier far better than we do; and he could, if he chose, 
remove this visitation with a word. If he does not 
cemove it, it will be because he has good and merci- 
iful reasons for fits continuance. ^'Wherefore, lift 
up the hands which hang down, and the feeble 
knees." You shall one day see that all this is 
mercy. Trust in the Lord, and you shall not be 
desolate, 

November 10. There is scarcely a more mortify- 
ino" subject of contemplation, than the littleness of 
the sum total of human greatness, compared with the 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 175 

capacity of man. The vast majority of our racfe, 
waste their powers in the pursuit of objects, which 
have little or no reference to the improvement o,f 
their intellectual and moral nature. While the man 
of mere business is pursuing, with a zeal worthy of 
the Christian's imitation, schemes of personal emolu- 
ment, his mind, constantly employed within the 
contracted sphere of pecuniary and interested calcu- 
lations, becomes almost incapable of taking a free 
and extensive range of observation. Like the limb 
enfeebled b'y want of exercise, it shrinks from every 
unusual effort; and the disposition to mental exertion 
dechnes, as it is found to be laborious. 

Though all cannot be supposed to possess equal 
advantages for the cultivation of the mental faculties; 
yet most possess advantages which, duly improved, 
might have advanced them higher in the scale of 
human greatness than they are. The daily occur- 
rences of life, furnish an infinite variety of occasions, 
upon which the wise may seize as means of improve- 
ment. The difficulty is, not so much in not having 
such means, as in the want of the ability, or the dis- 
position, to profit by them. To teach us how to do 
this, how to seize upon^ and turn to the best account, 
every means of improvement with v/hich we are 
furnished by Providence, is, or ought to be, the 
great end of education. Whatever we have learned, 
if we have not learned to think^ so as to be able ^o 
advance ourselves in knowledge, by the judicious 
deductions of reason in reference to our daily cir- 
cumstances, the most important of all knowledge is 
wanting, that of knowing hov/ to educate ourselves. 
And if the mind is not accustomed to think enfr/?/, 
there is danger that it will never be brought to think 
at all. How important then, that mothers should 
make the communication of ideas their principal 
object in instructing their children; and that they 
should encourage in them a becoming curiosity to 
know the reasons and uses of things, and induce 



176 



MEMOIRS OF 



them to exercise their judgments upon what they 
have learned. To accomplish these designs, in de- 
ference to our children, is indeed, no easy task. 
But are not the benefits to be derived from their 
accomplishment, of importance enough, and is there 
not sufficient ground to hope for success, to con- 
stitute a claim to more attention, and effort, and 
prayer, in reference to them, on the part of mothers, 
than they commonly receive? 

18. Pride has been my constant foe, ever since I 
have hoped I had begun the Christian race, and I fear 
^ it ever will be. Once, when I was the mere child 
of fiction, and romance, my ambition was to distin- 
guish myself by poetizing, and shining as an author- 
ess. After I was married, and Vvas taught some 
sharp lessons, my great desire was to be a good, 
plain, common sense woman; a good wife, good 
mother, good mistress, good Christian. But pride 
besets me still. 

Yet I do hope, that I have lately learned some 
humbling lessons; been m.ade to feel my dependance 
on God for the exercise of reason, and to receive it 
daily as a fresh gift at his hand, I do hope pride 
has appeared more odious to me, more detestable, 
ungrateful, and abominable, of late, than ever before. 
Oh that my reason may be used for God; and, if it is 
used thus successfully, that the consciousness of my 
infinite obligations to Him, who continues the facul- 
ties he gave, may keep me perfectly humble. I want 
to be clothed with humility. Vain man! What ar- 
rogance to talk of having a mind that will not yield 
to despair! Let thy God drop, for a moment, the 
band which sustains thy reason, and where art thou? 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 17T 



TO A SISTER-IN-LAW AT N. L. 

Boston, December 20, 1818. 

You will be pleased to learn, that our Christian 
community is becoming more deeply interested in 
behalf of the Jews, than it has been heretofore. Two 
Missionaries are expected to sail in the spring, on an 
exploring expedition to Jerusalem. Their object is, 
to ascertain what encouragements exist to the estab- 
lishment of a missionary station there. It is believed 
that they will be found sufficient to justify such a 
measure. All the information we receive respecting 
the Jews, both in Asia, and in Europe, seems to in- 
dicate, most clearly, that the present is a time in 
which they are expecting something remarkable, in 
a political and religious view, to be done for their 
nation. Nothing seems to give such a spring to 
missionary exertion, as an increased attention to the 
Jews, for we know that their ingathering will be as 
life from the dead to the Gentiles. Park Street 
Church and ours, have agreed to unite in the observ- 
ance of the Monthly Concert of Prayer, and at 
each Concert, to take up a collection for the support 
of one of these Missionaries to Jerusalem. Both 
churches have also determined, severally, to educate, 
at least one young man for the ministry, agreeably 
ta the plan proposed in the pamphlet, entitled 'The 
claims of 600,000,000 of Heathen.' Cannot you 
educate one in your church? Try, 

TO A FRIEND IN A. 

Boston, January 22, ISIS. 

No, my dear friend, I shall not 'be tired of your 
complaints,' though I may be pained by your com- 
pliments. To be told that we are clever, &c., may 
be gratifying to our pride, at the same time that it 
occasions uneasiness, because we know that it is 
not true. 



1^8 MEMOIRS OF 

As to our respective management of our children, 
you see all your own short-comings, and I see mine, 
at least some of them. I suppose each of us thinks, 
that, were our faithfulness weighed in the balance, 
the scale would preponderate in favour of the other. 
But it is a great comfort that there is One who 
knows all our hindrances, and ail our efforts, who 
knov/s all our weaknesses, and discouragements, and 
who has said, "If any man lack wisdom, let him ask 
of God, who giveth liberally, and upbraideth not." 
Our discouragements often result from the belief that 
our difficulties are peculiar to ourselves. If we could 
only see the conflicts of others, we should often find 
that their struggles were as painful as our own. 
Perhaps they may not be called to contend with 
precisely the same things that we are; but, if their 
difficulties be of a totally different kind from ours, 
they are not on that account the less formidable. 

For myself I often feel as if there could not be 
an individual of our weak and sinful race, more 
feeble, more helpless, more unable to stand the 
smallest trial, than I am. These are sad hours. But 
they may be profitable ones. It is a sweet reflection 
that He, with Whom we have to do, will not break 
the bruised reed; and that our physical infirmities 
constitute us such, as well as our moral ones. Yes, 
he knoweth our frame, he remembereth that we^re 
dust. The great cause of our getting on so heavily 
seems tome to be, that we are weak in faith. Would 
we quietly receive the allotments of God's provi- 
dence, would we patiently wait for the intimations 
of his will, would we unreservedly surrender all our 
interests into his hands, how much happier should 
we be. There would still be sin to grieve us, to be 
sure; but a strong faith, though it would not dimin- 
ish our contrition for our sins, and our concern on 
account of the sins of others, would take away much 
of their bitterness. The tears of godly sorrow, 
would not so often be mingled with the sighs of 



3IRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 179 

despondency; and the restlessness and anxiety of our 
hearts, now such obstacles to a state of satisfaction 
with the government of God, would yield to an 
humble persuasion that he will do all things well. 
Oh, my friend, in saying this, I am met with the 
painful conviction, that I am the person who has 
more need, perhaps, to pray. Lord, increase my 
faith!, than any one else. 

As to the subject of your strong and reasonable 
solicitude, remember that the hearts of all men are 
in the hands of tne Lord* and ne can turn them as 
the rivers of water are turned. God can work with- 
out any human instrument; he can make the languor 
of debility, and the agonies of disease, effectual 
teachers and schoolma-ters, to brmg men to Christ. 
And he often does. Your desu'e and anxious con- 
cern for the conversion of this dear friend, are ra- 
tional and proper, so far as they stimulate you to 
fervency and wrestling in prayer on his account. 
But if this desire and concern pass over these bounds, 
if they lead to an anxious state of mind, which en- 
feebles your health, interrupts your confidence in 
God, and thus unfits you to pray and labour, either 
for him, or yourself, or your children, as you other- 
wise would do, does it not become a hindrance and 
a snare? It is a difficult case, I know. But your 
gracious God, on whose kind arms you have hitherto 
been so mercifully borne, will, even in this trial, 
put the song of salvation and praise into your lips, 
and give you the soul you long for; or, if he with- 
holds the evidence of this, he will quiet your heart 
as that of a weaned child. Be not dismayed. God 
is a rock, his way is perfect. 

You say you are ^easily disheartened.' And do 
you not think others are so, as well as yourself? Alas! 
many have been the times that, after my little flock 
had gone to bed, 1 have shed bitter tears over the 
miscarriages and mistakes of the day. I feel that I 
am not faithful, as I should be, to improve opportu- 



180 



MEMOIRS OF 



nities of doing good in my family, of recommending 
religion to its members, especially the children. 1 
think we should make it a subject of prayer, every 
morning, that we may be enabled to seize, with wis- 
dom, every opportunity of doing good that may offer 
through the day. I do remember Wednesday even- 
ing.^ These seasons have sometimes been very 
precious to me. This text has been on my mind 
very sweetly of late, "I will pour my Spirit upon 
thy seed, and my blessing upon thine offspring." 
I feel, my dear friend, as if God will have respect 
unto his, covenant, and choose the seed of his people 
as a generation to serve him. I want to have this 
promise fulfilled all the world over; and I hope it 
will be before long. Perhaps, if Christian parents 
are faithful, the millennium will be introduced in this 
way. And if this be the case, is it not a privilege 
to be a mother in this day, when there is so great 
and comforting a prospect that our children will be 
made stars in the Redeemer's crown.^ 



March 4. I have been in a poor state of health 
of late. I am now better, but still feeble. Though 
afflicted, I have experienced much of the Lord's 
goodness in my illness. O yes, he is always faith- 
ful. I can only bear record against myself. I think 
I have, at times, felt my Saviour near me; tasted 
the sweetness of his love, and the fulness of his sal- 
vation. Death has, at times, looked to me sweet, 
as the harbinger of eternal peace, of unmingled ho- 
liness* One day, when I was very much disordered 
at my breast, the prospect of living seemed to be 
received by me almost with reluctance. Oh what 
a glorious prospect has the Christian before him! 
How precious are the consolations of religion in this 
world! And what joys in reversion! Yes, my 

* On this evening, she and her correspondent had agreed to make 
each ether's children the special subject of their secret prayers. 



MUS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 181 

Saviour, rivers of pleasure are at thy right hand; 
and thy love is sweeter than all the enjoyments of 
millions of worlds. I am happier, a great deal, than 
I was when my health was better; because I feel, (if 
I am not deceived, and I believe I am not,) so much 
more of the blessed influence of religion. Before I 
was so feeble, I felt as if I must be brought nearer 
to God. I prayed that I might be drawn near, and 
kept near, to him; if it could be done only by bring- 
ing me low, that I might be brought low. Any 
means seemed welcome, if the end could only be 
effected. And my prayer was soon answered. 



TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE MATERNAL ASSOCIATION OF P. 

Boston, March 14, 1819. 

Dear Madam. Your letter of Feb. 9th, to the 
Maternal Association of Boston, came safe to handc 
The expressions of Christian affection toward us, 
which it contained, could not fail to be gratifying. 
The apostle well understood the treacherous nature 
of the human heart, when he exhorted Christians 
to stir up the gift of God within them for mutual 
edification. Christians often need to put each other 
in mind of acknowledged duties: and, as "iron 
sharpeneth iron, eo a man sharpeneth the counten- 
ance of his friend." 

The subject of your letter, the religious education 
of our children, is indeed one of the greatest im- 
portance. While, on the one hand, we would avoid 
the error of those v/ho think education can do every 
thing; we certainly are authorized to conclude, from 
the whole tenor of revelation, that, with the bless- 
ing of God, it may do much. The question then, 
what is a religious education^ becomes one of the 
deepest interest. Is it to have our children bap« 
tized, and initiated into a knowledge of the general 
principles of Christianity. Is it to make them at- 
16 



1 82 



MEMOIRS OP 



tend upon the regular administration of the word* 
to catechise them, to remind them of the greatness 
of their obhgations to become holy« and set before 
them the terrors of the Lord, that we may persuade 
them to flee from the wrath to come? All this we 
undoubtedly ought to do. But all this we may do, - 
and yet be found wanting. For we can never too 
earnestly press upon ourselves the conviction, that 
education is not what we teach our children in de- 
tached periods of time, when we are giving them 
special instruction, or explaining to them revealed 
truths; but what we teach them by the silent, but 
ever-influencing language of our general example. 
The mother who recommends religion, in her formal 
instructions to her children, as a thing of the first 
importance, while, in her own case, it is habitually 
driven into a corner; who urges on her children, the 
supreme desirableness of laying up treasures in hea- 
ven, while her dearest ones are evinced, by her con- 
duct, to be on earth; who insists on the excellence 
and importance of meekness, patience, and charity, 
while she is no way remarkable for the exercise of 
these graces herself; who descants on the vanity of 
the world, while she is seen to be a slave to its 
opinions and fashions; can hardly expect much suc- 
cess from her labours."^ 

But while we must all weep over our short-com- 
ings, while w^e have occasion to confess to our God, 
and perhaps, sometimes, to acknowledge to our 
children, that the evil which we would not, that we 
do; it should inspire us with courage that we have 
an High Priest who is touched with the feeling of 
our infirmities, and who is able to prevent the in- 

*" The reader will find some very judicious remarks on this most 
important topic, in the Life of Dr. Scott, author of the Family Bible, 
particularly in the 17th Chapter; and in the Pastoral Address of the 
General Association of Connecticut, in 1822, published in the Chris- 
tian Spectator for that year, at p. 491- This document ought to be 
possessed, and frequently perused, by every Christian parent. An 
abstract of it was published in the Boston Recorder of Nov. 2; 182^-. 



MK5. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 163 

fluence of unallowed miscarriages on the minds and 
hearts of our little ones. If there be a prevailing 
desire, and a settled purpose and endeavour, to v. alk 
before our house with a perfect heart, may vre not 
indulge the humble hope, that our accidental mis- 
takes, or occasional deviations, from the path of 
duty, shall not separate his mercy from us and our 
children? 

''The kingdom of God is as if a man should cast 
seed into the ground: and should sleep, and rise 
night and day; and the seed should spring and grow 
up, he knoweth not how. For the earth bringeth 
forth fruit of herself; first the blade, then the ear. 
after that the full corn in the ear/' Here is the 
sure word for encouragement. The husbandman^ 
who casts his seed into the bosom of the earth, waits 
in quiet expectation of the harvest. He plants, he 
waters, he removes carefully the young weeds which 
appear and endanger the growth of the grain; and, 
usually, he does not labour in vain. So is the 
kingdom of God, or his word in the heart. And, in 
due season, we may expect to reap, if ive faint not. 

We must, however, prepare ourselves to meet 
with many hindrances, to resist many discourage- 
ments, to overcome many difficulties. The evils 
resulting from a nature altogether corrupt, are too 
potent to be levelled at one blow. Nor must the 
recurrence of the manifestation of dispositions, 
which we had hoped were annihilated, or the relapse 
into sins which we had believed were forsaken, dis- 
arm us of resolution and strength to apply, with a 
steady hand, the proper remedies for these disorders. 
The disease may be protracted, there may be many 
relapses; but we must not therefore conclude that 
it is incurable, and remit our efforts to save its un- 
happy victim. 

We are apt to be impatient to enjoy now the fruit 
of our prayers and tears. And to desire that our 
little ones maybe early brought into God's covenant. 



184 



MEMOIRS OF 



is certainly proper. But we must remember that 
now is the time for ivorking. This is our part: to 
give the blessing is the Lord's. Let us then strive 
to do our part faithfully, and perseveringly; and may 
we not, safely, leave all that remains with him"? 

With respect to educating a Heathen child, we 
have long had a quarterly collection, the avails of 
which have been appropriated to this object. We 
originally intended, that it should be devoted to the 
support of a female in India; but in consequence of 
the difficulty of obtaining such subjects of this char- 
ity there, we recently determined to devote it to 
the education of a female of the Cherokee nation of 
Indians. We hope the time is not far distant, when 
the degraded women of the East will be so far 
emancipated from their present abject condition, as 
to be suffered, with their fathers and brethren, to 
stretch out their hands, and lift up their voices, in 
supplication for the blessings of the Gospel. What 
mother, what Christian, in view of this subject, must 
not often breathe forth the prayer, Thy kingdom 
come9 

Our Association have also resolved to spend the 
last Wednesday in every year, exclusively in prayer, 
for ourselves, our own little ones, the children of 
the members of other Maternal Associations, and 
the offspring of all God's professing people. 

We hope you remember us, and ours, in your 
prayers. Oh that our united supplications may 
come up as incense before the mercy seat; that^they 
may, through the great Intercessor, be heard in 
heaven, and speedily answered on earth, to the praise 
of God's glorious grace! Amen and amen. 

May 7. Oh my God! thou knowest the earnest, 
the, at times, almost heart breaking, desires I feel 
for the conversion of my children. What shall I 
do, that this end may be attained? Lord, teach me 
what thou requirest of me in this particular! Es- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 185 

pecially, make me scrupulously watchful over my 
own example. Oh God! do I not choose thee for 
their portion, above all other portions. And wilt 
thou not give me as I have desired? O hasten, hasten 
the time of their union, by a living faith, to the Lord 
Jesus Christ! 



TO MISS 



Boston, June 1, 1819. 

My dear . I^ mentioned the subject of our 

mornino-'s conversation to mv husband, whose con- 
stitutional reserve on all subjects, and invariable 
caution on such as this, rendered it proper that I 
should do so. As his judgment is much better than 
mine, and as I felt afRicted in your affliction, I could 
not forbear informing you, that he thinks you have 
no cause for the great uneasiness you feel. The 
whole course of your conduct in the affair, he thinks 
censurable in no respect. 

We all fall into errors and inadvertencies in this 
Avorld; and it is as necessary that we should learn 
the painful lessons of our ignorance of what is right, 
and of our great impotence in doing it, as other 
lessons more pleasant. The great thing is, to be 
made better by them all. You see, my dear girl, 
that innocent, or at least, comparatively innocent, 
actions, som.etimes subject us to great censure; and 
that, from persons whom we dearly love. The only 
way, therefore, to enjoy uniform quiet is, to endea- 
vour, as much as possible, to cease from man, to 
study what is that good and acceptable and perfect 
will of God, and aim to do it. If we have his ap- 
probation, let us strive to view other things as corTi- 
paratively unimportant. If we aim to prefer his 
opinion above that of all others, we shall not give 
tiim this supremacy in vain. For those that nonolu 
Jiim, he will honour. 
16^ 



186 MEMOIRS OF 

June 14. How many perplexing circumstances, 
are continually occurring in this world? In manag- 
ing a family, how much happens to pain and wound 
one'? I think it is my humble desire to be as a 
wise legislator to my little province; to enact as 
few statutes as possible, and those judicious and 
easy to be observed; to see that all things are done 
at the proper time, and in the proper way, so far as 
practicable, that our family may be a quiet, well-or- 
ganized, regular family; to attend to these necessary 
duties with a meek and quiet spirit; to manifest in 
all my deportment before my household, much of the 
pieekness of heavenly wisdom. But, how difficult 
is all this! How often do my most conscientious 
regulations meet with the disapprobation of my domes- 
tics! How often are my best motives misappre- 
hended! And, what is worse than all the rest, how 
often do these things trouble and discompose me, 
and make me seriously unhappy. I think my hea- 
venly Father knows, that I have a sincere desire to 
be faithful over my house; that it is my earnest en- 
deavour, to walk before it as a Christian ought to 
walk. Oh! to be more faithful, and less disheart- 
ened at difficulties! Oh, that these little troubles 
may drive me to a better resting place than this 
world! 

July 19. Bridgewater, My husband set out this 
morning on a journey for his health, vvhich has been 
very feeble of late. He will probably go as far as 
Montreal. And I have come with my eldest child, 
to spend a part, or all, of the time of his absence, 
here. I shall have leisure for reading, and medita- 
tion, and prayer. Nothing will be wanting to 
enable me to make some progress heavenward, un- 
less, through my perverseness, it be a heart to im- 
prove. Lord, enable me by thy grace to fulfil the 
resolutions I have made, to spend the time in th}' 
fear and service! 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 1ST 

August 3. We had yesterday, one of the most tre- 
mendous and awful thunderstorms I ever witnessed. 
It seemed as if all the elements were mingling and 
melting together. It had been preceded by a few 
days of most oppressive heat. Four barns were 
struck in this parish; a meeting house in the adja- 
cent one, and four men who were working in it 
laid senseless, but revived soon enough to extinguish 
the flames which had communicated to the shavings. 
I felt quiet and composed, for I realized that Jeho- 
vah was riding upon the tempest and directing the 
storm. I was sensible that the danger was great, 
and my mind was rendered solemn. But I felt 
chiefly desirous, that the awful providence might be 
a quickening one to me; that when the Son of man 
does come, I may be found ready to meet him. 

TO A FRIEND AT A. 

BHdgemcder, August 13, 1819. 

Our sufferings are measured out, and our times 
appointed, by One who knows infinitely well how 
to dispense and order all. It is sweet to feel safe in 
his hands. And if the children of God, we are safe; 
and our Father's hand will not inflict one unneces- 
sary stroke. But, oh! the obduracy of these hearts; 
the almost irresistible disposition existing in us to 
depart from God! These are the things which ren- 
der so many stripes and rebukes necessary for us. 
And shall we not be willing that God should employ 
the means which he sees to be best adapted to de- 
liver us from sin? 

My health has improved surprisingly since I have 
been in the country. I only want more grace, a 
strong and practical faith, and that love to Christ 
which shall make me hate every thing which inter- 
feres with my duty to him. 

August 20. How high is the Christian's destina- 
tion! How elevated are the motives from which he 



188 MEMOIRS OF 

professes to act! How exalted is the end he pro- 
fesses to have in view above the little things of this 
world! And yet, trifles, light as the small dust of 
the balance, often interpose themselves between him 
and his ultimate object, and hinder and clog his way 
to heaven! He feels, perhaps, their insignificance. 
He laments the weakness or perversion of mind, 
which alone, could invest them with such power. 
But, while he acknowledges the littleness of his 
enemy, he finds himself constantly assailed and fre- 
quently vanquished by it. Alas! too often is this 
the case with me. Careful and troubled about many 
things, which are not worth a thought! Oh! why do 
I thus spend my money for that which is not bread, 
and my labour for that which satisfieth notf 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW AT N. L. 

Bridgewater, August 2b., 1819- 

It w^ould have given me great pleasure, my dear 
sister, to have spent some weeks with you this sum- 
mer, had I not been unwilling to add to your cares, 
and had I been able to take such a journey. But 
the goodness of God to me is very apparent in so 
disposing my circumstances, at the time of my dear 
husband's departure, as to prevent my thinking of 
such a visit this season. I could not have borne the 
Ditigue of the journey; and the reports of yellow 
fever in Boston, so vague as they would have reached 
me at New London, would have occasioned me in- 
expressible uneasiness. I have not been without my 
anxieties here. I brought S^ with me when I came 
out. About a fortnight ago, I heard that S. A.f had 
been sick, and sent for her; and yesterday I learnt that 
little M.J was seized on Saturday night, so violently 
as to endanger her life. Through the mercy of God, 
the dear child has recovered; but I expect to send 

- Her Mdest child, f Her third child. \ Mer youngest child at that ti\i[ie. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 189 

for her also to-morrow. I felt last night, as if I had 
so much more reason to be thankful to my heavenly 
Father for sparing the life of the child, than to be 
grieved because he did lay his hand upon her, that 
the intelligence of her sickness was made very light 
to me. 

Upon every fresh trial, I feel more and more aston- 
ished at my own declensions, which make the stroke 
necessary; and at the patience of God, which will 
continue to undertake, by mercies and judgments, 
the preparation, of so unmeet a subject, for heaven. 
It is easy to talk about the vanity and folly of earthly 
attachments and dependencies. But the Christian 
must be brought to an habitual, practical determin- 
ation to have no other god but Jehovah. He must 
be brought to say, in the deepest sincerity of his 
soul, 

The dearest idol I have known, 

Whate'er that idol be, 
Help me to tear it from its throne! 

And there is no doubt that most of the trials of the 
people of God, are sent for the accomplishment of 
this very end. It is no easy matter, with such earth- 
ly hearts, and surrounded by earthly objects, and 
cares, and duties, and pleasures, to preserve and ad- 
vance in spiritual-mmdedness. But, without this, 
w^e are not warranted to hope we are Christians, v/e 
cannot expect to be partakers of the heavenly in- 
heritance. 

As.lo the reports of sickness in Boston which 
you have heard, there can be no doubt that it has 
been very sickly there. The whole number of 
deaths, from various causes, the last week was twen- 
ty-five. The fever has been checked, since the com-^ 
mencement of the present coldness of the weather. 
If it can be so, consistently with the wise purpose 
of Jehovah, I most earnestly desire this weather 
may continue. But I want a heart to feel such en- 
tire satisfaction with God's government as shall keep 



190 MEMOIRS OF 

me in perfect peace. To view the subject so as tc 
weep with those that weep, to long that the impeni- 
tent, who are sick, may not be driven away in thei: 
\vickedness, and to desire, more intensely, that th( 
judgment may be sanctified, than that it may be re- 
moved, is, no doubt, the manner in which it ought t 
be viewed. 

I received a letter yesterday from my dear hus 
band. He was, when he wrote, just about to leav 
Montreal for Quebec. He says he has been muci 
gratified with his journey, and that his health is much' 
improved. I hope he will not return before the 
middle of September; but I fear that, when he has 
turned his face homeward, he will hurry as fast as 
possible. 

TO A FRIEND IN BOSTON. 

Bridgewater, August 25, 1819. 

I hope, my dear Mrs. , you, and all the good 

people of the Old South, have been pleased with the 
preaching you have had since Mr. Huntington left 
home. I think that yesterday, and the preceding 
sabbath, you could not fail to be gratified. But after 
alL ordinances will be barren and unprofitable to us, 
however well administered, unless the God of ordi- 
nances meets with us in them. I believe I lose 
more, by neglecting a due preparation for religious 
duties than in any other way. God will be inquired 
of to do these things for us^ — to make attendance 
Lipon his ordinances, in a spiritual sense, delightful 
and profitable. The word must be sanctified by 
faith and prayer, and then it will be a word in season. 

How are your niece and daughter.'* I hope they 
experience a growing determination to endeavour to 
secure the pearl of great price — the safety of the soul, 
whatever else may be lost. The day is fast ap- 
proaching, when all will be felt to be a dream, a 
bubble, without the durable riches of the Christian. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 191 

Nothing else which we may acquire, can be retained 
when we enter the eternal world. And may I not 
say, nothing else can ensure us happiness in the pres- 
ent world? for 

The spiders most attenuated thread 

Is cord, is cable, to man's slender hold 

On earthly bliss. It breaks at every breeze. 

You have no doubt seen Professor Stuart's Let- 
ters to Mr. Channing. I am delighted with them. 
An enemy must, I think, trim his powers of percep- 
tion to an uncommon degree of acuteness, to find in 
them any of that bigotry, and sourness, and unchar- 
itableness, of which the orthodox are so liberally 
accused. Mr. S. has certainly written like a Chris- 
tian and a gentleman; and better judges than I am, 
think he has written like an able critic and a pro- 
found scholar. 

August 2S, I am distressed at my want of faith. 
The yellow fever has been in Boston since I have 
been here. There were eleven deaths by this dis- 
ease, on Friday and Saturday of last week. I hear 
that my dear husband will probably be at home on 
Monday, and that, from travelling rapidly, he is 
much fatigued. I fear he is sick. If he is not, he 
will be exposed to the fever, when he reaches home. 
Oh for faith, to leave him with God! My very heart 
sinks in prospect of his falling a sacrifice to disease. 

September 1. I have reason to think my beloved 
husband actually is sick. I have only heard that he 
is fatigued, and has stopped at Groton. I am going- 
home in the stage to-day. Oh that I may find things 
better than I fear. 

TO A FRIEND IN BOSTON. 

Groton, September 9, 1819. 

This has been a trying day. My dear husband is 
very lowc How this distressing fever will termin- 



192 MEMOIRS OF 

ate, God only knows. The prospect is very dis- 
couraging. Oh, that we may all be prepared for 
whatever is preparing for us. I feel as if 1 had 
never been afflicted till now. But the Judge of all 
the earth will do right. I want to feel that all is 
safe while he governs. 



The apprehensions expressed in the above extract 
were soon realized. Mr. Huntington died, at Groton, 
between twelve and one o'clock, on Saturday, Sep- 
tember 11, 1819. "On the succeeding Monday the 
mortal remains were interred in Boston, with ap- 
propriate exercises, and great solemnity. A sermon 
was delivered on the occasion, by the Rev. Mr. 
Dwight,^ in the Old South Qhurch; where an im- 
mense concourse was assembled, to express their 
interest in the solemn event, and to pay a public 
tribute to distinguished worth. The clergy of Bos- 
ton and the vicinity, the members of the church and 
congregation of which the deceased had been pastor, 
and a multitude of other acquaintances and friends, 
united with the bereaved family and relations in de- 
ploring their common loss, while they praised God 
for the bright example of Christian virtue which 
they had witnessed. The spacious house of w^orship 
v/here the last sad offices were performed, was so 
crow^ded, that many hundreds tried in vain to obtain 
admittance. The tokens of unaffected mourning 
were so numerous, and so impressive, that it could 
not be doubtful in what high and affectionate esti- 
mation the character of the departed minister and 
friend, was held.f " 

In relation to the state of Mrs. Huntington's mind, 
under this heavy trial, an intimate friend, who 
was constantly with her, during the first week 

■^ Pastor of the Park Street Church, in Boston. 
t Memoir of the Rev. Joshua Huntington^ published in the Panoplist 
for December 1819. . 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 193 

after her husband's death, observes, in a letter to the 
compiler, written March 1, 1824, "There was, in 
her whole deportment, the most convincing and 
pleasing evidence of humble, child-like submission 
to the divine will. Most of her conversation with 
me at that time, worthy of being recorded as I felt 
it to be, I regret that I am compelled to say, has es« 
caped my memory. I w411, however, add a few 
particulars, in the unconnected manner in w^hich 
they occur to my recollection. 

"I remember asking her, on the day succeeding 
the death of Mr. Huntington, if it required an effort 
to be submissive. She answered, 'I am enabled to 
bless God, that I have not had to contend with an 
unbelieving thought. I would rather have endured 
the agony of separation, than that my dear husband 
should have borne it. I can truly say, '-'Tis the 
survivor dies.*' 

"On another occasion she said to me, 'The bitter- 
ness of my grief can be known only to God and my 
own soul. But I think I can say, 'Though he slay 
me, yet will I trust in him,' and can lay hold on 
the hand that smites, for support. But', oh, the 
loneliness of widowhood! I am as Peter, sinkino* in 
deep waters.' 

"The resignation and calmness she was enabled 
to feel, she ascribed 'to the mercy of God, in answer 
to the prayers of his dear people,' many of w^hom 
she knew, constantly remembered her in their sup- 
plications." 

But the most interesting and satisfactory details, 
in relation to this important period of her life, are 
found in her journal and letters; extracts from which 
will now be continued. 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, OF N. L., THEN AT BRIDGEWATEK. 

Boston, September 22, 1SI9. 

I received your kind letter, my dear sister, this 
forenoon. I am happy to sav, that I have passed 
17 ' ' 



194 



MEMOIRS OF 



the time, since you left me, much more comfortably 
than I expected. God is very gracious to me. He 
gives me such a measure of sweet quietness, as com- 
poses and tranquillizes my spirits. '^Blessed is the 
man who trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope the 
Lord is: for he shall be as a tree planted by the 
waters, and that spreadeth out her roots by the 
river; and shall not see when heat cometh, but her 
leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the 
year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding 
fruit." Sometimes I have fears that the precious 
promises of God's word cannot belong to one so 
vile and rebellious. But I am generally able to flee 
to the blood of sprinkling — to trust in Him in whom 
all the promises of God are Yea and Amen, and to 
say. Lord, thou knowest all things, thou knowest that 
I love thee. Yes, my dear sister, on God's part, all 
is mercy, mercy. The world has changed with me. 
But the memory of the blessed saint is pleasant, 
though mournful to the soul. The prospect of heaven 
makes the dark shades of my picture brighter. I 
think I am not deceived. 

September 25. The desolating stroke my soul 
was dreading, when I last wrote in this journal, has 
fallen upon me. Yes, it has fallen upon me; and I 
live. What shall I say?^ — The right hand of the 
Lord doeth valiantly, or I should now have dwelt 
in silence. Wonderful grace! He that hath loved 
me bore me through. His everlasting arm was 
under me. He taught and enabled me to say. Thy 
will be done. To him be glory. The being I loved 
better than myself, has left me in this wilderness. 
He on whom I leaned, has gone over Jordan. But 
another arm, mightier than his, sustains me. I can 
say, I humbly believe with truth, Nevertheless I 
am not alone, for God is with me. And I must 
again cry, Grace! grace! I am a wonder to myself. 
Oh! the infinite grace of God! A worm is in the 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 195 

furnace, and is not consumed! And must I not love 
this ''strong Deliverer" better than all? Shall I not 
cheerfully give up my comforts at his command. 

October 3. When I can, I intend writing some 
of the particulars of my blessed husband's departure, 
for future satisfaction, should I live. When I look 
at my loss only, I sink. What I lost in that holy 
man of God, that amiable companion, that faithful 
friend, that prudent counsellor, that devoted hus- 
band, God knows. What the Church has lost, in 
his eminent consecration of himself to his work, his 
love to the poor, his compassion to the afflicted, his 
meekness and humility, his zeal and disinterested- 
ness, his fervent prayers, his lovely and almost 
spotless example, God knows. Oh, it is pleasant 
for memory to dwell on the recollection of what he 
was. 'Tis a beautiful picture, on which I must' 
ever fasten the eye of my fond remembrance with 
satisfaction. But that light is removed; put out, I 
do not say. Oh no. He lives, to die no more. 
And I am permitted to hope I shall, ere long, go to 
him, and dwell with him forever in heaven! God is 
carrying on an infinitely perfect plan of government. 
The removal of my beloved husband, in the midst of 
his usefulness, is a part of that plan. — Shall I not 
lay my hand on my mouth, and say. Thy will be 
done? 



TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N 



Boston, October 13, 1819. 

My dear sister. My health continues comforta- 
ble. My spirits are better than could have been 
expected. Should I live, I think of spending next 
summer in the country, perhaps at A. Where God 
may then call me, I know not. I wish to feel my- 
self entirely at his disposal, to live one day at a time; 
and to believe that, when the period comes for de- 
termining in what place I shall pass the remnant of 



196 



MEMOIRS OF 



my days, my kind Parent will direct me. Tiiat place 
may be Boston; it may be in Connecticut; or it may 
be some where else. God knows, and with him I 
leave it. My expenses would be less in some other 
place than in Boston. But my children have other 
mterests besides pecuniary ones; interests which the 
parent on earth and the Parent in heaven, view as 
most important. Where, upon the whole, I judge 
these interests will be best promoted, there I shall go. 
The Old South Society have been very generous. 
They have voted to give me, the use of the parson- 
age-house, all my wood, and the salary for one year 
from the first of this month; and one thousand dol- 
lars a year, for six years, commencing Oct. 1, 1820. 
So, you see, comfortable provision is made for us for 
the next seven years. And more than this, for I 
•shall be able, I trust, to save something each year 
against the future. At any rate, I must, if possible, 
live on the thousand dollars. That, I suppose, 
would be an ample support in N. L. But this is 
an after consideration. Present duty and present 
grace, it best becomes me to be looking for. And, 
my dear sister, my God is good. For the most 
part, I can cheerfully leave futurities with him, hum- 
bly hoping that he will enable me to glorify him, 
wherever I am, and however I am. This is the 
great point. And when I leave all, quietly, to Him 
who, with the gift of his Son, will most certainly 
give his children all things best for them, I am 
happy. 

October 14. Thus far the Lord has led me on. 

He has been better to me than my fears. I have 
great comfort in my children. God has very merci- 
fully provided for my temporal wants. I have cause 
to mourn only my own sinfulness. Heaven does 
not look so near to me as it did. I have come back, 
in some measure, to earth. The wound bleeds; and 
will, while life lasts, continue to bleed; but the first 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 19t 

anguish is exchanged for suffering, as real, but less 
nitense. The restless agony of my sleeping mo- 
ments, has yielded to a watchfulness less disturbed; 
and the tears and groans of a heart alive to sorrow, 
while the senses are slumbering, have, in a great 
measure, ceased. But I mourn. My precious hus- 
band is dearer than I ever knew him to be in life. 
Oh my Saviour! make me diligent and faithful in 
thy service; and, when thou hast done with me here, 
let me live with him in thy presence forever! 

TO A FRIEND AT B. 

Boston, October 26, 1819. 

In relation to my troubles, I wrote to you in — , 
and gave you particulars; but it seems you did not 
receive my letter. I will only say at present, that 
I have suffered beyond expression, and, on the other 
hand, God's wonderful grace has stayed my soul 
with the strong aid of his promises; so that as my 
sufferings have abounded, my consolations also have 
abounded by Christ Jesus. At present, my chief 
desire is to glorify God, and my chief cause of sor- 
row, that I glorify him so little. Sin is my bitter, 
persevering, specious, malignant enemy, the foe 
Vv'hich I most dread, the greatest disturber of my 
peace. When, at any season, my soul is taken near 
to my Saviour, and satisfied from his fulness, this 
treacherous and cruel foe steps in, and beguiling me 
from my refuge and my resting-place, leads me far 
from his presence which is life, and from the mani- 
festations of his love which are better than life. Oh! 
when shall these wanderings be healed; when shall 
I love and serve Him, whom I do believe my soul 
loveth, as I ought; when shall I be satisfied with his 
likeness; when shall sin be bruised under my feet^ 

Dear Mrs. , God loves you. Are you afraid 

to trust all with this wise, and kind, and loving, and 
unchangeable Friend and Father? Believe that he 
17* 



198 MEMOIES OF 

will manage your concerns better than you could do 
yourself. Believe that as your days, your strength 
shall be. Trust implicitly to your covenant God. 
We have no reason to fear any thing but sin. And 
even over this foe, if we are Christians, we shall be 
made conquerors at last. Blessed hope! It is worth 
labouring for, worth suffering for. 

October 31, It is a grief and trouble to me that, 
after having experienced such a trial, so calculated 
to detach me from this world, I find I have an 
earthly heart still. I want now to live, feeling as 
Abraham did, when he went out, not knowing whither 
he went; to be seeking daily grace and daily breads 
taking no anxious thought for the morrow; saying 

I am not concerned to know 
What to-morrow's fate will do; 
'Tis enough for me to saj; 
God supplies my wants to-day. 

But, instead of this, I find myself saying, 'Where 
shall I fix my place of future residence? How shall 
I ever do my duty to all these children? How shall 
I manage, to make my little property turn to the 
most advantageous account? &c. &c.' Oh, my 
Father! I know that after all these things, do the 
Gentiles seek, with carefulness; and that it is not 
well, it is sinful, for me to be seeking them thus. 

I have been lamenting before God, to-day^ my 
great guilt in this respect, and feel somewhat re- 
lieved. I have been giving myself again entirely 
to him, desiring to trust in him with a simple de- 
pendance, to stand ready to go where he shall ap- 
point, to do, and to be, just what he pleases, to find 
my future pleasure in doing, with a holy courage, 
and humility, and energy, the work which he shall 
give me to do. How pleasant will even my widowed 
life be, if I can thus live? No matter where we are, 
or what we are, so long as we can find our happiness 
in glorifying God, and in doing and &ufrering his 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 199 

will. Oh, blessed, happy life! This was the hap-- 
piness of the Apostles and primitive Christians, who 
suffered the loss of all things temporal, were perse- 
cuted, afflicted, tormented, and slain; and yet sang 
the song of victory, through Jesus Christ their 
Lord, on the rack and in the flames. This is the 
very essence of heavenly fehcity. With a capacity 
to enjoy this happiness, we might w^ell say, with the 
Psalmist, '^Though the earth be removed, though 
the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea, 
we will not fear." Oh my God! I am fully satisfied 
that here is the only quiet resting-place. Help me, 
oh, help me, thus to stay myself only on thee! Then 
j^hall I be happy. 

Kovemher 5. Nearly two months have elapsed 
since the hand of the Lord removed from me my 
earthly prop and comfort; and I can say, in the lan- 
guage of Mrs. Grant on a similar occasion, "Mine 
is a growing sorrow. Like other streams, it widens 
as it proceeds." It may seem strange, but I have 
felt a mournful pleasure that, if we must be separated, 
if these heart-rending agonies must be endured by 
one of us, I am the sufferer, and he is happy. It is 
sweet to me to know, and reflect, that God loved him 
better than I did. We both, I trust, loved our God 
supremely, and shall love him forever. Oh the 
blessed truths of Christianity! These bear up my 
spirit, amidst the waves and billows of affliction. I 
am afflicted, but not in despair; cast down, but not 
destroyed; sorrowful, yet sometimes rejoicing. Dear, 
blessed saint! we shall meet, I trust, where adieus 
and farewells are sounds unknown. 



TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. 

Boston, November 7, 1819. 

So far as human sympathy can operate to heal a 
heart torn by a wound like mine, it has availed for 
me. Few ever had more affecting and soothing 



200 



MEMOIRS OF 



proofs of tender concern and affectionate commiser- 
ation, than myself. I number this among the many 
mercy-drops which my kind Father has mingled in 
my cup of sorrow. Few had so much to lose. But 
this would make my ingratitude the deeper, were I 
to murmur at the removal of a mercy which I never 
deserved; especially when its removal has been ac- 
companied with so many, so very many, mitigating 
circumstances. No: though God witnesses the tears 
of agony which daily force themselves from eyes 
long accustomed to weeping, I trust he does not 
behold them tears of impatient repining, or impi- 
ous rebellion. I think I can say, He hath done all 
things well. I think I feel, that he has a right to 
govern, and can comfort myself with the sure and 
certain conviction, that his plan of government will 
be most conducive to his own glory and to the hap- 
piness of his people. In this trying dispensation 
the question has arisen, Which shall govern, God or 
myself? And blessed be his name! I am not con- 
scious that, for one moment, I have felt disposed to 
take the reins of dominion into my ov/n hands. 'God 
knows best.' This silences, and, prevailingly, sat- 
isfies, my troubled souL 

How does the world dwindle, when heaven comes 
near! And how cheerfully can difficulties be sur- 
mounted, and trials endured, and duties performed, 
and sacrifices made, while we look, not at the things 
which are seen, but at the things which are not seen! 
The great difficulty is, to keep a steady eye of faith 
on futurity, and the great example of the Author and 
Finisher of our faith in view; to remember that we 
were created "to glorify God and enjoy him for- 
ever;" and that, therefore, the main object of our 
creation, and of course the main ground of our hap- 
piness, cannot be affected, materially, by the tem- 
poral changes through vvhich we pass, while this 
object is pursued. Oh, this is the difficulty! Faith 
wavers. We want to find our happiness in earthly 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 201 

comforts; and when they are removed, we feel as if 
all was gone. Dear brother and sister, pray for me. 
Pray that I may have double grace, as I have now 
double duty to perform. Pray for the children of 
liim whom you loved. Let us pray for each other, 
that God will bless us in all things, and bring us at 
last to the inheritance of the saints in light. 

November 9. 

No more shall this bosom, when heaving with anguish. 

In the kind breast of sympatiiy seek for relief, 
While helpless I wander, or hopeless 1 languish; 

Ah, cold is the heart that would share all my grief! 

Consuming thought! Who shall ever more wipe 
the tear of sorrow from these weeping eyes, or lend 
the ear of undissembled sympathy to the complain- 
ings of this broken hearf? Who shall bend, with 
the smile of tenderness, over my bed of suffering, 
and cheer me with the voice of aifection9 Alas, alas, 
No chanofe can ever restore him to these widowed 
arms! And I should go down to the grave in sorrow, 
v/ere it not that God is my helper. 

TO A FRIEND AT N. H. 

Boston, November 14, 1819. 

Your long and confidential letter gave me great 
pleasure. There is a sympathy in the feeling of per- 
sons who have been recently afflicted, which cannot 
be expected to be found in others; a mutual chord 
which, touched, vibrates w^th a kindred sound. We 
have not suffered exactly alike; but we have suffered; 
and that circumstance has made us love each other 
better than we did before. 

But, my dear friend, in our recent trials, neither 
of us has been called to suffer as those who have no 
hope. And how does the reflection, that our depart- 
ed friends have now reached the point which we 
must reach before we can be happy, sweeten and 



202 BIEMOIRS OF 

soothe the anguish of the separation! Let us contem« 
plate them in every supposable view, and the pros- 
pect is full of consolation. We cannot think of them 
as, what they were, or what they are, without pleas- 
ure. They are the highly favoured of the Lord, 
who, having finished all they had to do in this vale 
of tears, are admitted to the higher services of the 
upper temple. True, when we look at our loss, 
nature will feel. This is allowable, is becoming. 
When I view myself, riven asunder, root and branch, 
not the limbs torn away, but the very body of the 
tree sundered from top to bottom, nature must feel 
the parting agonies, must, at times, be ready to sink 
under the consciousness of her dissolution. All this 
miist be, to those who have interests to be smitten, 
friendships to be broken, and hearts to feel. 

Yes, dear E., our hearts have bled. The wound 
inflicted has been deep. We have felt that the 
stroke was full of anguish, that it went to our very 
souls. We will not deny that this is all true. We 
will not please ourselves with the delusion that the 
deep, deep wound, which the hand of God has in- 
flicted, can ever cease to bleed. But, oh my friend, 
is there not balm in Gilead, is there not a physician 
there.^ Is not that Physician our Saviour; wise to 
discern, prudent to manage, strong to save.^ Has 
not the kind hand, which smote so deeply, accom- 
panied the stroke with many softening, mitigating 
circumstances^ Oh yes; I trust we both feel that it 
is so. It is God who hath afflicted us, the infinitely 
wise, compassionate, and faithful Jehovah, the Lord 
our God. And does it not argue gr^t want of con- 
fidence in Him, if we sink into despondency when 
he chastises us? Does it not shew, either that we 
think we could manage things better than he can, or 
that there is something which we have not cordially 
submitted to his disposal. 

And now, O God, thou art the potter, and we the 
ciay. O how this quells the murmurings of self- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 203 

will; how it settles the restlessness of the troubled 
spirit; how it plucks the sting from the rod of afflic- 
tion! God knows best. Precious truth! It is as an 
anchor to the soul, sure and stedfast, which keeps it 
from shipwreck, amidst all the storms and tempests 
of the troubled sea of life. Oh for a firm, unwaver- 
ing faith! This is all that is wanting. With this 
we may say, 

Cheerful; I tread the desert through. 

With this we may rejoice when our beloved friends 
are taken from the stormy ocean to the peaceful 
port, from the weary wilderness to the happy home, 
from the field of conflict to the crown of victory; and 
trace, with holy courage, our way, through the same 
difficulties, to the same glorious recompense of re- 
ward. But ah! this — a firm, unwavering faith, is too 
often wanting. We miss our temporal comforts; the 
heart which sympathized in all our pleasures and 
pains has ceased to beat, the ear which was always 
open to listen to our complaints and our wishes is 
closed, the kind voice of affection and disinterested 
love is hushed, the arm which supported us is with- 
drawn: — -it is a chilling thought. Cherished alonCj 
we feel its freezing, benumbing influence fastening 
upon all the springs of comfort and hope, and turn- 
ing every stream of joy into one waste of cold and 
motionless despair. 

But, my dear friend, we must not view our trials 
thus. We must think much and often, of the bles- 
sedness of those whose removal we lament, of the 
perfection of the divine government, of the certainty 
of the promise that all things shall work together for 
good to them that love God, of the rapid approach 
of that hour which will unite us eternally to those in 
Christ whom we love, of the danger of creature com- 
forts, and of the suflering life on earth of our glori- 
ous High Priest and Head, and his assurance that 
it is through much tribulation we must enter the 



204 MEMOIRS OF 

kingdom. Oh, my dear E., if we are Christians, 
there is a glorious prospect before us — as much of 
the good things of this life as an infinitely wise and 
kind Father sees to be best for us, and hereafter an 
eternity of unmingled and ineffable bliss. 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. Y. 

Boston, November 21, 1819. 

Sometimes I feel, very sweetly, that God is my 
Father; can look back, and see how I have been 
borne on his kind arms from my birth, distinguished 
by many special mercies, led in a right way; and 
trust him for the future; — and I am happy. But it is 
not always so. At times faith wavers, and I feel as 
if I were sinking in the deep waters, where there is 
no standing. 

My dear sister, there is no resting-place short of 
heaven. There is no certain dependance upon any 
temporal comfort, which does not take its rise from 
a heart thoroughly satisfied to have God govern as 
he pleases. He is leading the Christian, through a 
dark and dangerous wilderness, to a city of habita- 
tion, the New-Jerusalem, the land flowing with milk 
and honey. And he is wise to know what is best 
for the poor wayward pilgrim whom he is guiding 
to glory, and faithful to do it. We are not always 
able to see how it is, that his dispensations toward us 
are either wise or faithful. It becomes us, however, 
Vv^hether we can see it or not, to believe that it is so; 
and to labour after the spirit of Him who said, in 
his extremity, ''Nevertheless, not as I will, but as 
thou wilt." 

Baxter says to the Christian in affliction, "If you 
are comforted now, you must not expect comfort 
always, for God sees that you need hours of very 
different exercises." I experience a great variety of 
feeling. To-day, sorrow has prevailed, I have thought 
of the long, long separation I have been called to 
from the husband of my bosom, and shuddered to 



IMIIS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 205 

look forward. An awful chasm presents itself to 
my view, and my spirit is overwhelmed within me. 
But the precious truths of the Christian religion then 
come in for my support. I look to the "Man of sor- 
rows." I view him passing a life of suffering un- 
mitigated by the sympathies of human relations and 
friends, a stranger to the comforts a merciful God 
has left me, having not where to lay his head, perse- 
cuted, denied, crucified, working out the salvation 
of an unthankful world, through difficulties, and 
dangers, and death, and remember that, as a man, 
he was undefiled and separate from sinners, and that 
he was the Son of God; — and I chide my ungrateful 
heart for beino^ unwillino^ to suffer anv thinof for him. 
Oh, my sister, if God will bring us to heaven at last, 
it should not surprise us if we, like our exalted 
Head, must be made perfect through sufferings. 

I send you a subscription paper for the Ser- 
mons, which it is intended soon to publish, of the 
blessed man w^hom we all loved. May their pub- 
lication brighten his crown of glory! 

JVovember 27. Another calamity! Some person 
found access, yesterday, to my bureau; stole some 
of my best wearing apparel, and, what is worse, 
from a drawer usually locked, but for two hours at 
that time, unlocked, a box, containing Mr. Hunting- 
ton's miniature, the chain, a breast-pin wdth his hair 
in it, a pair of ear-rings which he purchased for me 
in Montreal on his last journey, and some articles 
found in his pocket after his death; including all the 
little presents in jewelry he ever gave me, except a 
broken ring by accident in another place. This only 
is left. Sad emblem of our broken union. I am 
greatly afflicted. It seems like sacrilege to plunder 
me of these mementos of my departed husband, 
18 



206 



MEMOIRS OF 



TO A SISTER-IN-LAW AT N. Y. 



Boston, December 2)0, 1811/, 

It is just four weeks to-night since the birth of my 
little boy. I have not yet been able to use the pen 
much, on account of my eyes, though I have been 
remarkably comfortable. I dined down stairs yes- 
terday week. My spirits are, for the most part, quiet. 
You will tell me, 1 should now think and speak of 
iny mercies, rather than my trials. Oh yes; I know 
it, and God has indeed been very gracious to me. I 
have no reason to complain of him, or of any of his 
dealings. Nor should I be anxious about the future? 
My business is, to fill up the present, with humble 
performance of, and patient submission to, the will 
of Him whose government is righteous, who does all 
things well, and all whose purposes have for their 
object the everlasting welfare of them that love him. 
Oh for large portions of that blessed hope which is 
an anchor to the soul; — a hope that will keep all who 
possess it from being shipwrecked on the troubled 
waters of affliction, though they may be tossed and 
driven from billow to billow, and, at times, feel as 
if they must give up all for lost. I would not, I do 
not, complain, though my breach is wide like the 
sea. God is good; and I am, comparatively, happy. 
I believe heaven is my home. That prospect bright- 
ens this dark valley. 

Mrs. Mason^ is probably v/ithin a few days of her 
long expected, long desired rest. The removal of 
her beloved shepherd, though she acquiesced, and, 
on his account, rejoiced in the dispensation, was like 
a blow at the root. The effects of the stroke evinced 
its heaviness. And the dear woman will not remahi 
long behind him she loved so sincerely. Oh, what 
a meeting! 

* An aged member of the church of which Mr. Huntington was 
Pastor, greatly respected and loved for her humble, devoted, and con- 
fiistent piety. 



MRS. SUSAN HUXTIXGTOX. 20' 



TO A FRIEXD AT B. 

Boston, January 12. 1820. 

Xow I will turn to a more pleasant subject. 

and tell you how delightful the time looks, when I 
shall go to him who loved me, and who has left so 
many sad, sad remembrances behind him; and, above 
all, when I shall go to Him who, I trust, loved me 
unto death. Oh,4iiy dear H., it is sweet to rest in 
the Lord. 

Time, what an empty vapour 'tis! 

But no matter. The shorter it is, perhaps, the bet- 
ter, if our work is done. 

How precious is a throne of grace! How many 
cordials has our kind Father provided to strengthen 
and sustain us, till our feet shall be planted on 
Mount Zion above, to wander no more forever! 
Oh, H., I trust we shall have a glorious meeting- 
there. ^'God is known in her palaces for a refuge.*' 
How beautiful is the idea! How little is known on 
this blessed subject by the world! And should not 
this consideration urge us constantly to pray for 
them? Alas! my conscience condemns me here. 
How little I feel for the poor sufferers who have no 
knowledge of this refuge, who catch at every straw 
for support, who buoy themselves up. for a little 
time, with the vain hopes of this world, and, with 
the Rock of ages full in view, sink forever! 

January 14. How good is God to one of the most 
unworthy of his creatures. When I feel, as I do 
sometimes, entirely sundered from earthly hope and 
happiness, I go to my God, and I find his arm 
strong, his grace sufficient, his presence precious, 
his promises sure; I am happy in his will, and I look 
forward to be happy in his love and presence forever. 
Then I have sweet communion with a present God. 
He is near me; I feel that he is. The example of 



:208 BIEMOIRS OF 

my once suffering Saviour supports me. But oli!, 
when he withdraws, all is dark! I have no hope but 
his mercy. That bears me up. I have not followed 
a cunningly devised fable. 

TO A FRIEND IN A. 

Boston, January 14, 1820. 

You ask, how I bore my inexpressible loss. To 
my own astonishment, I bore it, not only without 
sinking, without murmuring, but with calmness, 
with a quiet satisfaction in the will of God, and an 
humble hope of strength, support and all needful 
grace here, and heaven hereafter. The unspeakable 
consolations of that bitter hour, I cannot tell you; 
nor how a merciful God has, a great part of the time 
since, appeared for one of the most unworthy, stood 
by me in my difficulties, strengthened me with his 
strength, supported me with his presence, and mani- 
fested to me his fatherly love. I speak this to the 
glory of his grace. Heaven knows that in the whole 
number composing the family of Christ, there can 
few be found less able, in their own strength, to bear 
such a calamity than myself. I loved the blessed 
saint, perhaps idolatrously. My feelings are natur- 
ally uncontrollable. My bodily health was delicate. 
None had more to lose. And all was, at a time of 
peculiar sensibility, swept away. On the one hand, 
my heart was breaking with the intenseness of its 
separating agonies. On the other, God was sustain- 
ing with the strong cordials of the Gospel. So that, 
as my sufferings abounded, my consolations also 
abounded, by Jesus Christ. 

And now, what shall we say to these things? 
Truly, my friend, religion is a reality, a precious re- 
ality. Christianity holds out, not only principles the 
most pure and practical, which, when properly re- 
ceived, have the best influence on the character of 
man in every relation he sustains, but consolations 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 209 

SO sublime in their nature, so efficacious in their 
application, as can leave no doubt, in the minds of 
those who experience them, of its truth. In pros- 
perity we may believe as though we believed not; 
but when we find ourselves sheltered in the cleft of 
the rock, while the storm is raging without; when 
we feel the anchor of our hope holding us firm and 
strong, while the waves of sorrow are tossing us 
hither and thither, and we are every moment threat- 
ened with shipwreck; surely we can doubt no longer. 

January 21. No person I believe, ever had 
more or kinder friends than I have. And none, I 
am sure, ever needed them more. It is a special 
mercy of a faithful, covenant-keeping God. But the 
kind sympathies and good offices of comparative 
strangers, is what I could not have expected. O how 
much mercy have I to speak of! Rouse up, slothful 
soul! Press all thy powers, with renewed resolution, 
into the service of '^thy Love, thy Life, thy All." I 
have peace sweet peace, of mind, and communion 
with the God of my salvation. My seasons of pray- 
er are generally precious moments, in which I draw 
near to God. He is my helper. His word is most 
sweet; I feed upon it, and am strengthened. He is 
faithful. To him be glory, glory, forever and ever. 
Let me take stronger and stronger hold of the Rock 
of ages! especially let me grow in humility! Oh. 
the unsearchable goodness of God! 

Evening, Well do I know what Montgomery 
meant by "the changing spirits' rise and fall." Mine 
have fallen to-day. O how lonely I feel! 

How widow'd every thought of every joy! 

His last sigh 
Dissolv'd the charm. The disenchanted earth 
Lost all her lustre. AVhere her glitt'ring towers? 
Her golden mountains, where? All darkened down 
To naked waste, a drearv vale of tears. 

13* 



210 MEMOIRS or 

Perhaps this depression has resulted from my dis- 
appointment about the pubhcation of a volume of my 
husband's sermons, on which I had been depending, 
I fear too much. I cannot persuade myself that it 
is best to give it up. — But the blessed man was always 
opposed to posthumous publications, as generally 
wronging the author; and his brother, who has been 
looking over the sermons he left, thinks that they are 
in such a state, (many abbreviations and short hand 
characters, whose meaning was known only to the 
writer, having been used, and many sentences and 
paragraphs left incomplete, to be filled up extempo- 
raneously at the time of delivery), that he could not 
do them justice. It is hard to give it up. But hush, 
hush, unquiet soul! Thy friend is with God; and to 
him shalt thou go, if thou art faithful. He needs no 
such remembrancer with his Saviour, or with thee. 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW AT N. Y. 

Boston, Janua?'2j 23, 1820. 

Next sabbath I expect to carry my little Joshua 
to the sanctuary, and devote him to that God whose 
gift he is. May the offering be accepted! May the 
first lispings of his infant tongue, be the expressions 
of holy and grateful affections to his Maker and Re- 
deemer! I expect our dear brother D. to administer 
the ordinance, and Deacon P. has kindly offered to 
stand up with me, and present the child. I some- 
times fear it will be more than I can bear. But I 
feel it to be a duty to have him baptized in public; 
and his dear father always objected to private bap- 
tisms, except on extraordinary occasions. The great 
thing, however, is to do it sincerely and in faith. 
The Lord give me grace thus to do it! 

I want time to tell you how good God has been to 
me. My stolen goods have all been graciously re- 
stored to me. My mind was, for the most part 
during my confinement, kept quiet, notwithstanding 



MRS. SUSAN HUXTINGTOX. 2 11 

the painful retrospections which would press them- 
selves upon my attention, whenever my head touch- 
ed the pillow, where, on hke occasions, I had been' 
so often soothed by a voice which will speak to me 
no more, w^here every object reminded me of my 
unspeakable loss, where I seemed surrounded by the 
shades of the departed. Oh, my sister, you can 
have no idea of it. When S. was born, dear Mary 
Lyon, my mother, and my husband, were with me; 
now they were all taken. But I found the arm of 
the Lord strong to sustain. May my life be ever 
devoted to his praise. Trust him my dear F.; let 
your confidence in him grow stronger and stronger; 
trust him forever. 

TO MRS. T., OF D."^ 

BosloTi, January 25. 1820. 

My dear friend and sister. Ever since that sor- 
rowful event which numbered me among those who 
can more emphatically than other classes of mourn- 
ers, say, Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, 
and mine acquaintance into darkness, I have felt 
desirous of writing to you. Xot because I expected 
to otler any consolation to your mind, with which it 
is not already much better acquainted than mine, 
but from that natural feeling of sympathy, which is 
excited towards those whose trials are similar to our 
own. And now that I have taken up my pen, the 
reflection that my time might be better occupied than 
in obtruding myself upon you. and tlius opening anew 
the fountains of your grief \\i indeed they have ever 
been closed in any measure), by the recital of my 
own sutferings, almost induces me to lay it down 
again. However, I do not mean to pain you, and 
agonize myself, in this way. Profitable as it may be 
for common mourners, to dwell often and long upon 

* The widow of a clergyman, who, in the prime oflife, and effuse- 
fullness, Had been removed by death, leaving five small cliltdrcn. 



212 MEMOIRS OF 

the circumstances of their bereavements, in order to 
cherish the impressions which such dispensations 
may have made on their hearts, it is not profitable 
for us. Such sorrow as ours is in no danger of being 
suddenly diverted. The danger is on the other side, 
of its pressing so constantly and heavily on the spirit, 
as to crush the feeble body to the grave. And 
would it not have been so with us, my dear friend, 
were it not that the hand of the Lord has been upon 
us for good? 

I have wished, and still wish, to know how you 
do, what are your circumstances, and how your mind 
has been exercised under its heavy afflictions. I, 
you know, have had accumulated ones. But have 
we not both found that precious promise verified, 
"As thy days, so shall thy strength be'?" Has the 
Lord ever been "a wilderness'' to us? And may we 
not safely trust him for the future^ Does he not knov/ 
exactly, what measure of sorrow w^e can bear, as well 
as what kind we need? 

And now, my friend, what remains for us to do in 
this world? Not to live for the temporal enjoyments 
of life, certainly; for how can any comfort be receiv- 
ed, any delight enjoyed, which will not, as long as 
we live, be embittered by the recollection of those, 
dearer to us than our own lives, who once sympa- 
thized in all our joys, and whose sympathy with us 
was a principal source of our satisfaction? Yes, 
this bitter, bitter thought, will press itself upon our 
remembrance, when we lie down, and when we rise 
up, in the house, and by the way. And, viewing 
our loss only in this manner, the world looks like a 
waste, a desert, a weary, monotonous desert, strip- 
ped of all that once enlivened it. But we must not 
view it so. What did Christ live for? What did 
Paul live for? Alas! if we could find our happiness 
here in that in which the Saviour found his, we 
might yet see many good days in the land of the 
livino^. And this is what we must labour after. If 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 213 

we have little left us to enjoy, have we nothing left 
us to do9 And the happiness of our souls ought to 
result, the happiness of a holy soul will result, from 
doing and being just what God pleases. The mind 
which feels that it has no sympathies to be exercised, 
no object upon which to repose its affections, no 
business to employ its faculties, must sink into a 
state of hopeless and dreadful despondency. But the 
Christian should never feel thus. Though our pre- 
cious husbands have left us, have we nothing to feel 
or do for their children; nothing to do for Christ, and 
for the Church which he hath purchased with his own 
blood? And may we not yet be happy in doing 
diligently the work which he has given us to do.^ 
My dear friend, we shall never be happy just as 
we have been. Oh, no, never. The smile of ten- 
derness will wait for us no more when returning to 
our sorrowful habitations. The voice of unmingled 
love will greet us no more in our afflictions. The 
counsellors, advisers, supporters, and prophets, upon 
whom we leaned, who sanctioned by their influence 
the expressions of maternal authority, who bore us 
constantly and earnestly before God, are gone! Na- 
ture shudders, as she casts her eye forward, and 
thinks of this long, long, long separation. 

But why have I suffered myself to fall into this 
sorrowful strain? I did it unintentionally, uncon- 
sciously. Forgive me. I have pained you; and I 
have pained myself. I was going to say, we must 
find our happiness in a different way — in girding up 
the loins of our minds to a more diligent perform- 
ance of duty, in putting on, as good soldiers of the 
cross, the whole armour of God, in setting our faces 
as a flint against every thing which can discourage, 
intimidate, or wound us, in remem.bering the exam- 
ple of our devoted, our suffering Saviour, in leaning 
on his arm, confiding in his wisdom, and trusting in 
his grace and strength, and in sending forward our 
hearts to that happy, happy home, which we hope 



214 MEMOIRS OF 

one day to reach, and whither our beloved friends 
have gone before us. Let our expectations of earth- 
ly rest be moderate, except of that sweet rest which 
results from simple trust in God. 

I have written thus far, and have not yet mentioned 
wliat I had most in view when I began. I think we may 
derive benefit from remembering each other's chil- 
dren in our prayers. Can we not devote ten minutes, 
every Saturday evening, at nine o'clock, to special 
prayer, for each other, that we may have grace, wis- 
dom, courage and patience to do our duty; and for 
our children, that their affections may be sancti- 
fied, our instructions blessed, they brought into the 
covenant early, &c. Will you write, and let me 
know what you think of it.^ My little boy w^akes, 
and I must bid you adieu. 

TO MRS. H. OF NORTH BRIDGEWATER. 

Boston, February 12, 1820. 

Very dear brother and sister.^ Remember that the 
government of God extends to the minutest concerns 
of his creatures. Remember that he loveth his chil- 
dren so well, that he wills every thing that is best 
for them, and that he possesses infinite power to ex- 
ecute all the purposes of his will. What then is the 
result^ That if he removes your children, he does 
it because it is necessary for you, because his glory 
and your good can be more effectually promoted by 
such a dispensation, than they possibly could in any 
other way. Do you not believe it.^ Verily, if you 
cannot see it now, you shall see it hereafter. "Take" 
therefore, my brother and sister, "the prophets who 
have spoken in the name of the Lord, for an exam- 
ple of suffering affliction, and of patience. Behold, 
w^e count them happy which endure. Ye have heard 

* Two of Mr. and Mrs. H.'s children were^ at this time, dangerously 
sick. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON, 215 

.)fthe patience of Job, and have seen the end of the 
Lord, that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender 
mercy." Of his Church it is said, ''In measure, 
when it shooteth forth, he will debate with it: he 
stayeth the rough wind in the day of his east wind. 
By this, therefore, shall the iniquity of Jacob be 
purged; and this is all the fruit, to take away sin." 
If you are rebuked, it is in the measure only, which a 
righteous God and merciful Father sees adequate to 
answ^er the end which he proposes in thus chastising 
you, viz. to take away sin. Are you not willing, if 
God pleases, to be made like your Saviour? Is it 
not sufficient for the disciple to be as his Master? 
Are you not willing to fill up the measure of his suf- 
ferings? Look to the ''Man of sorrows." Derive, 
from his example, patience under your lighter trials, 
and from his experience of human calamity in his 
own person, a firm belief, that, in all your afflictions, 
he is afflicted, and will extend to you the support 
which he sees you need. Carry all your burdens to 
him. Wait upon him continually; and though weep- 
ing may endure for a night, joy shall come in the 
morning. 

For myself, I do not feel as if God intends re- 
moving both of these children. I have constantly 
believed, that one of them at least will be spared. I 
feel much for you. If I had not been almost sick, I 
should have gone out with Mr. P. Since he was 
here, I have scarcely left the room. I have been 
afflicted with a violent cold. If the children con- 
tinue sick, and I can be of any use, you may depend 
on my coming, extraordinaries excepted. May God 
be with, and bless, and sustain you. 

TO THE SAME. 

Boston, Februanj \5, 1S20. 

Dear M., Why is the hand of the Lord thus upon 
you? Why are you and dear brother called to nass 



216 



MEMOIRS OF 



thus under the rod of the Almighty? I trust neither 
of you is impatient, under a chastisement adminis- 
tered by One, whose wisdom and whose goodness 
you cannot call in question. Though the stripes of 
the great Father of the whole Family of believers, are 
often laid most frequently and most heavily on those 
who we should think, need them least; yet we do not 
know what important purposes are to be effected by 
such a course of divine proceeding. Let us look about 
us. Do we not find that those Christians who appear 
to be left almost to themselves, who pass along the 
path of life with few changes and trials, usually 
make but small advances toward a state of spiritual 
manhood? And, if pur blessed God sees that the 
disciple, like his Master, must be made perfect 
through sufferings, ought we not to welcome every 
means which will conduce to this blessed end? Can 
we desire to be babes in Christ all our days9 If it 
is a proof of sonship to be chastised, may it not 
prove a special favour to be greatly chastised? Put- 
ting myself entirely out of the question, (and I feel 
that I ought to go with my face in the dust all the 
days of my life, that I have profited no more by my 
trials), I do believe, judging from the observation I 
have been able to make, that those persons, who 
have become what we call eminent for piety, have 
generally been made so, under God, by sufferings. 
This seems reasonable; for how will, how can, de- 
praved, idolatrous human nature, ever rise heaven- 
w^ard, w^hen it can be satisfied with earthly objects? 
'^Every branch that beareth not fruit, the Father 
taketh away; and every branch that beareth fruit, 
he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit." 

If we were asked, what is the greatest good; 
should we not answer, conformity to God9 If we 
w^ere asked, what are the best circumstances for the 
Christian to be placed in; should we not answer, 
Those which will, most constantly, and most effectu- 
ally, promote his conformity to God? — Shall we then 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON, 



217 



pray for afflictions. By no means. We are weak, 
and are crushed before the moth. We should not 
pray for what we do not know that we could bear. 
We should habitually pray for conformity to God; 
and quietly leave it with him, to determine by what 
means he will effect this blessed end. 

TO THE SAME. 

Boston, February 19; 1820. 

My dear sister. I am truly grieved for your afflic- 
tion. How little did I think, when, with an aching 
heart, full of distressing apprehensions, alas! soon and 
certainly realized, I left Bridgewater in September, 
that I had taken a last farewell of one of the dear 
little ones. But so it probably was; and so little we 
know of what a righteous God is preparing for us. 

As to the child, I trust it is, and shall be, well 
with her; that she will be safely lodged in the bosom 
of the great Shepherd, who loveth the sheep, and 
gave his life a ransom for them, and who hath said, 
''Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid 
them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." 

As to yourselves, dear brother and sister, it is in 
vain to talk about the duty and reasonableness of 
submission. But you must do as the Psalmist did 
under different troubles: you must give yourselves 
unto prayer. "Call upon me in the day of trouble, 
and I will hear." This is a land of deserts and pits, 
of temptations, and sins, and troubles. If God sees 
fit to take our httle ones, and lay them up in heaven 
till we go also, shall we complain of him.^ 

February 25. I went to Bridgewater on the 22d. 
Brother D. has lost his oldest child.* It was a 



Z' She died on the 21st, aged 6 years and 8 months; leaving to her ai- 
flicted parents a satisfactory hope of her piety, and having furnished 
striking evidence of the ability of very young children to understand 
the most important evangelical trutliS;When properly presented to their 

J- v/ 



213 



MEMOIRS OP 



melancholy visit. The first day, all the fountains of 
my grief seemed broken up, so that I was ready to 
be overwhelmed. O how I watched, five months 
before, at that window! And how often since, has the 
recollection of that hill, down which I was never, 
never more to behold my husband coming to meet 
her whom he loved, almost made me spring distract- 
ed from my pillow. But my soul grew calm, and I 
could say, ''Am I not safe beneath thy shade.'^" 
Heaven is filling fast. The prospect of an admission 
there is ineffably glorious. 

March 6. Six months have now elapsed since 
my affliction; and it is as fresh as it was at first. Will 
it always be so? The very thought of remembering 
him less, seems like unfaithfulness to one whom I 
had the best reasons for loving. God has been in- 
expressibly good to me. In his mercy he has given 
me a son, the very image of his father, to bear his 
name, and, in some measure, fill up the awful chasm, 
which the removal of that best of fathers and hus- 
bands has made in my family and in my heart. I 
believe I am looking heaven-ward. I desire that this 
stroke may ever drive me to God as my husband 
and my portion. The past looks like a dream. On 
God's part, all has been faithfulness, and mercy, and 
love; on mine, how much unfaithfulness, and treach- 
ery, and sin! Oh, why do I find it so hard to keep 
near the Fountain of blessedness, the Spring of all 
my comforts? Shall these wanderings one day cease? 
Shall I ever, Oh my God, be made perfect in thy 
likeness? It seems too much for me to hope for. And 
yet I must not, cannot, be satisfied short of it. Then 
my soul, watch, and pray; labour, and faint not! If 
thou patiently follow those who are now inheriting 
the promises, thou shalt also, in due time, enter into 
the same everlasting rest. 

minds and a most pleasing encourngemeiit to parental fidelity in tJfe 
veligious instructign of children. See Memoir of Mary Hallam Hunt- 
ington . 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 219 

TO MRS. L., OF N. H. 

Boston, March 15, 1820, 

My dear Aunt. The expressions of affection and 
interest from those who are kindred ciccording to the 
flesh, are very welcome to a being, who, like myself, 
has, at twentv-nine, almost outlived all she once 
claimed as near relatives m this land of the shadow 
of death. When I look abroad into the world, how^ 
many places are vacated, w hich were once occupied 
by those I loved? But I am not alone. A merciful 
God has left me many friends; perhaps as many as 
I need. And what is more than all, I trust through 
grace, that He has given me himself. There are mo- 
ments however, moments of incommunicable sorrow', 
wiien a heart, smitten as mme has been, feels that all 
beneath the sun is ''darkened down to naked w astef 
when to look back, overwhelms it with recollections 
too interesting to be resisted, too agonizing to be 
endured, and to look forward~-alas! may you never 
behold the chasm I have trembled to look into! 

But w^hy do I speak thus? God knows best. And 
the soul satisfied with the wisdom and rectitude of 
his government, may endure even this, and sing of 
victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ. Dear 
Mrs. L., THE GOSPEL IS TRUE: wc shall be saved 
if we live by the faith of the Son of God. Our only 
danger lies in forsaking the Rock of our salvation. 
All the storms of this troubled sea, can do us no 
harm, if we cast the anchor of our hope, firm and 
strong, into the Rock of ages. 

Oh for a strong, a lasting faith! 

It would transform this dreary desert into a region 
of light and joy. 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW^, AT N. L. 

Boston, March 17, 1820. 

My health has, generally, been very good of late 
though the weight of my cares sometimes lies heav- 



"^^ BIEMOIRS OF 

ily upon me. I should have thought once,'! could 
not have sustained all the care I have in one way and 
another, without sinking. But through the great 
goodness of God, my mind is usually kept tranquil; 
and I feel as if I could thank him for all that is past, 
and trust him for all that is to come. My dear httle 
boy grows charmingly. He is a lovely child; and 1 
find his smiles and interesting actions often soothe 
a sorrow which must ever be deep. When I go 
down into the parlour, and see nothing but the like- 
ness;"^ when I think of the future, the husband who 
will never return; when the chilling recollection of 
this long, this bitter separation pours all the agony 
of hopeless sorrow over my soul: — I return; there is 
another Joshua, whom 1 press to my aching heart, 
and I thank God, my heavenly Father, that he gave 
him. These are bitter hours, when nature prevails. 
But it is not always so. No, my sister, if it were, I 
could not have lived. 

Mr. Winchellf is gone. He followed the "dear 
brother" of whom he spoke so often in his delirium, 
about a fortnight ago, to the place of the faithful 
minister's glorious and eternal reward ^ Mrs Mason 
also, precious saint! is gone. She now understands 
perfectly the "need be" of her pastor's removal; an 
event which she spoke of at first as "a cloud without 
one ray of light," an event which she felt to be a 
heavier stroke than any she had ever before experi- 
enced. So one after another of the Church of the 
First-born, whose names are written in heaven, are 
gathering into their rest. Happy, happy they who 
have passed safely through th^.s valley of tears, en- 
dured the hardships of the way, been brought off 
conquerors over all, and received the recompense 
of reward! 

■^ x4. portrait of Mr. Huntington. 

f The Rev. James M. W^inchell, Pastor of the First Baptist Church 
m Boston, a clergyman of excellent character and great promise; about 
the age, and an intimate friend, of Mr. Huntington, 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 221 

March 21. When I am taking those walks, now 
solitary, which I used to take for the gratification of 
my beloved husband — w alks which must always be 
associated with his image and his love in my mind, 
and which I now take from a sense of duty, to pre- 
serve a life which is important, at least to his chil- 
dren — and cast my eyes over this busy metropolis, 
this beautiful world; I feel that I am a stranger. 
What a chano:e has the removal of him whose mem- 
ory I love to cherish, occasioned in the face of the 
whole w^orld! But are not all strangers? Oh for 
grace to feel that while I am at home in the body, 
I am absent from the Lord, for grace to shake off 
these chilling, withering, useless regretsi Oh Thou 
whom my soul longeth to love with all my strength, 
have pity upon me! I do not murmur. I would kiss 
the hand that smites, though the rod is felt to my 
inmost soul. Pity, and love, and sanctify me! and 
all is well. 

April 13. Were I to sit dow^n and brood over 
the various circumstances of my late sorrowful be- 
reavement, it would unfit me for every active duty. 
My mind would dwell upon its own personal calami- 
ties, till my health would be undermined, and all 
the faculties I possess prostrated. When my thoughts 
do fasten on that point — his sick-bed, it produces 
emotions so powerful, as almost to overwhelm me. 
I love him better than ever. The reflection that he 
never w^ill return — O how bitter! — But, my blessed 
Saviour shall I sit down in despair? If I have but 
little left to enjoy, is there nothing left me to do9 
And may I not be happy in doing thy will? Is not 
that the best happiness? Oh my best, my unchang- 
ing Friend! lessen this attachment to the husband of 
my affection, so far as it interferes w ith my love to 
thee. 

21. I have heard that Mrs. Winchell^ is de- 
ranged. I felt, w hen I prayed for her, as if she 

* The widow of Uie clergyman whose decease is nrentioned page 220. 

19* 



222 MEMOIRS OF 

would be supported. When I realize by what a 
slender hold I retain that reason which can alone 
make me useful, that reason of which, if of any 
thing, I have been proud, it humbles me in the dust. 
It is of God's infinite mercy that my late afflictions, 
have not made a wreck of my mind. I have de- 
served it. But will not He who has helped, con- 
tinue to help, me9 He who has carried me through 
the greater, will he not carry me through the less? 
Shall I distrust him now^ Shall I not commit the 
whole disposal of myself to him9 This I know — if 
I am sustained, it will not be by dint of my own 
natural resolution or fortitude. No, no. To God 
will be all the praise. 

23. There was a very sudden death, by typhus 
fever, last week — a young man, one of our church, 
a member of Cambridge College, and a frequent 
visiter here. What a world is this^ When this 
youth came to condole with me, after the departure 
of his minister, how little I thought he would follow 
him so soon! Yet man, with an obstinacy which, 
in any other case, would be deemed absolute insani- 
ty, continues to fasten his affections and his hopes 
on this changeful world, and to forget that its next 
revolution may whirl him into that state of existence 
which must endure forever, a state irreversible as 
well as eternal! — Oh for the soul-sustaining consola- 
tions of past days! I am a sinner, the chief of sin- 
ners. I used to think, once, that this was extravagant 
language for me to adopt; now, I feel it to describe 
the common estimate which I make of myself. Oh 
for sanctifying grace; that, when the summons ar- 
rives which shall remand me to dust, I may not be 
afraid with any amazement, feeling that for me to 
live is Christ, and to die is gain. 

28. I have long intended, for the sake of my 
children, to describe some of the exercises of my 
mind at the time of my blessed husband's sickness 
and death; but have not before felt able to do so. 



MRS. SUSAN HUXTINGTOX. 223 

The last part of my stay at Bridgewater, I ex- 
perienced, at times, a peculiar flagging of my ani- 
mal spirits, and a sense of horror which can never 
be described. There was no particular cause for this 
that I am aware of. On Saturday, August 28, 1819, 
I heard that Mr. Huntington had stopped at Groton, 
fatigued; and was not much alarmed, supposing that 
he did not come into Boston so late in the week, to 
avoid the labour of preaching immediately after so 
long and fatiguing a journey; and overruled by the 
solicitations of my friends, and the consideration of 
the yellow fever being in Boston, I remained at 
Bridgewater until Wednesday. On Tuesday I sat 
watching at my windo^v, to see the well known 
chaise, the sound of which, on similar occasions, 
had always delighted me. Toward evening I ex- 
pected the stage, and possibly, my husband in it. 
The stage appeared. Instead of my husband, the 
driver threw me out a letter. It struck a pang to my 
heart. When I had opened it, through the mistaken 
kindness of my friends, I was still informed that 
"he was fatigued." Distracted with apprehension 
and suspense, I waited for morning; and, at nine 
o'clock, left Bridgewater in the stage, with a heart 
tortured with apprehensions, alas! soon and certainly 
realized. During my ride home, this passage of 
scripture was upon my mind, and comforted me 
'Mil things work together for good to them that love 
God." I was feeble, but v/ished to go to Groton 

that night. Mr. assured me, however, that 

Mr. Huntington was not very sick. He had seen 

him on Monday. Miss was with me. Mr. 

's assurance of my precious husband's being- 
only slightly feverish, had, in a great measure, lulled 
my fears. 

On Thursday morning I set out, m a chaise, accom- 
panied by a friend, for Groton. During the ride, the 
first answer of the Assembly's Catechism was strongly 
impressed upon my mind, "^Man's chief end is to 



224 MEMOIRS OF 

glorify God and enjoy him forever." I felt thatj 
for the last twelve years I had, in a great degree, 
misunderstood the great object for which I was 
made; that, if not my chief, a very high end with 
me had been, to be happy in my husband, and make 
him happy in me. I felt that the highest happiness 
of a rational mind ought to arise, from answering the 
purpose for which God made it; and therefore that I 
ought to be happy in glorifying God, not in enjoy- 
ing myself. 

We reached the public house in Groton. I in- 
quired if they knew how Mr. Huntington of Bos- 
ton was. The answer vv as, "very sick indeed; the 
doctor has been there all day; he is a very sick 
man." My limbs would scarcely support me to the 
house. Upon our arrival there, we went into the 
parlour alone. The first object that met my eye, 
was the hat of the blessed sufferer above stairs. It 
struck me with fearfulness and trembling, as the 
herald of death. I asked for the physician; and in 
reply to my agonized interrogation, "Is there no 
hope?" he said, ''Mr, Huntington is very sick. I 
should have some hope, were it not that all fevers 
this summer have been unusually fatal." — The over- 
whelming agonies of that moment can never be 
described. The language of my heart was, 'Oh 
that God would redeem his life with mine!' The 
doctor told me I must compose myself, as to see me 
agitated might destroy the object of my solicitude. 

Mr. Huntington was apprised, by the physician, 
of my arrival. There was an increase of ten to the 
number of his pulse upon this intelligence. When 
I entered the room in which he lay, he was gasping 
for breath; but his countenance glowed with an ex- 
pression of tenderness I shall never forget, as he 
threw open his arms, exclaiming, "My dear wife!" 
and clasped me, for some moments, to his bosom. 
I said with perfect composure, "My blessed hus- 
band, I have come at last." He replied, "Yes, and it 



MUS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 225 

is in infinite mercy to me." I told him, all I regret- 
ted was, that I could not get to him sooner. He said, 
with a tender consideration for my health, which 
he always valued more than his own, ''I am glad 
you could not; in your present circumstances, it 
might have been too much for me." 

From that time, owing to the insidious nature of 
his disease, I had considerable hope. I had seen 
him. I was with him He was as sensible of my 
love, and of my attentions, as ever; and I could not 
realize the stroke that was impending. Never 
shall I remember, without gratitude, the goodness 
of God in giving me that last week of sweet, 
though sorrowful, intercourse with my beloved hus- 
band. 

The days and nights of solicitude drew near a 
fatal close. I could not think of his death. At that 
prospect, nature revolted. I felt as if it would be 
comparatively easy to die fos* him. But the day 
before his death, when all spoke encouragement, I 
felt that we must part. In th^ bitterness of my 
soul, I went into the garret. It was the only place 
I could have without interruption. Never shall I 
forget that hour. Whether in the body or out, I 
could scarcely tell. I drew near to God. Such 
a view of the reality and nearness of eternal things, 
I had never had. It seemed as if I was somewhere 
with God. I cast my eye back on this life, it 
seemed a speck. I felt that God was my God, and 
my husband's God; that this was enough; that it 
was a mere point of difference, whether he should 
go to heaven first or L seeing we should both go so 
soon. My mind was filled with satisfaction with the 
government of God. ''Be ye followers of them who, 
through fjiith and patience, inherit the promises," 
seemed to be the exhortation given me upon coming 
back to this world. — I do not mean that there were 
any bodily or sensible appearances. But I seemed 
carried away in spirit. I pleaded for myself and 



226 MEMOIRS OF 

children, travelling through this distant country. 
It seemed as if I gave them, myself, and husband, 
up, entirely. And it was made sure to me, that God 
would do what was best for us. 

From that time, though nature would have her 
struggles, I felt that God had an infinite right to do 
what he pleased with his own; that he loved my 
husband better than I did; that if He saw him ripe 
for his rest, I had no objections to make. All the 
night he was exercised with expiring sufferings, and 
God was pouring into my soul one truth and promise 
of the Gospel after another. I felt it sweet for him to 
govern. There was a solemn tranquillity filled the 
chamber of death. It was an hour of extremity to 
one whom Jesus loved. I felt that He was there, 
that angels were there, that every agony was sweet- 
ened and mitigated by One, in w^hose sight the death 
of his saints is precious. I felt as if I had gone with 
the departing spirit to the very utmost boundary of 
this land of mortals, and as if it would be easier forme 
to drop the body which confined my soul in its ap- 
proach toward heaven, than retrace all the w ay I had 
gone. When the intelligence was brought me that 
the conflict was over, it was good news; I kissed 
the clay, as pleasantly as I ever did when it was an- 
imated by the now departed spirit. I was glad he 
had got safely home, and that all the steps of his de- 
parture were so gently ordered. 

It would be in vain for me to attempt a description 
of my feelings the next morning. I had never seen 
such a sun rise before. It beheld me alone. Were 
I the only created being in the universe, I could not, 
perhaps have felt very differently. I went into the 
chamber in which he died. There, on the pillow, 
was the print of his head. The bed of death was 
just as when it resigned, forever, the body of him 
who was all the world to me. His portmanteau, 
comb, brush, &c. lay in sight. God wonderfully 
supported me. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 221 

But why do I dwell on a description which, even 
now, is almost too much for me"? How did God 
sustain a creature who was weakness itself? How 
mercifully he has carried me through all my succes- 
sive trialst Truly it was the Lord's doing; and it is 
marvellous in my eyes. 

And now; O, how is it now? Not so much com- 
fort; labouring with sin; afraid almost to live in this 
wicked world; dreading a thousand evils in my 
present lonely state. But all this is wrong. God 
hath said, ''Who shall harm you, if ye be followers 
of that which is good"?" How kindly my beloved 
husband used to remind me of this text. 

TO A FRIEND AT A. 

Boston, May I, 1820. 

I thank you for wishing one like me to come 
among you. I feel that there are many dear friends 
in A. But I have concluded to remain in Boston 
this summer. Unless I had made up my mind to fix 
upon A. as a permanent place of residence, it would 
not be worth while for me to remove there this 
spring, as I might thereby subject myself to the in- 
conveniences and expense of two removals. With 
my large family, I should not like to board. My 
friends here advise me to purchase a small house, at 
an expense of ^2,000, or .$'2,500; and settle down in 
Boston. Dear Dr. Worcester^ thought I should be 
more eligibly situated here, both for comfort and 
usefulness, than any where else, and could, on the 
whole, live at as cheap a rate. I hope and trust the 
Lord will direct me. I desire to submit myself en- 
tirely to his guidance. 

May 6. Great, great is my charge. My chil- 
dren, thus far, are a comfort to me. But w^e 

* The Rev. Samuel Worcester, D. D., late Corresponding Secretary 
of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Mission??. 



228 



MEMOIRS OF 



live in a wicked world. I must unite tenderness 
with resolution, patience with authority, meekness 
with decision. I must be obeyed; and I must be 
loved. How earnestly ought I to pray, that my chil- 
dren may never have occasion to ''despise my youth," 
or my sex. Oh that I may be strong in the grace 
that is in Christ Jesus! 

11. I have sweet peace of mind. I feel that, in 
Christ the living Head, all the redeemed of the Lord 
meet as in one common body, both the saints on 
earth and the saints in Heaven. One family! Bless- 
ed Saviour, is it indeed so? And am I one of thine, 
and, as such, one of that happy number who are re- 
deemed by thy blood, and made kings and priests 
unto God"? Wonderful grace! Gird up thyself, oh 
my soul! Labour now to do something for Him who 
hath loved thee unto death. 

12. God is in all respects better to me than my 
fears. I expected the return of spring would fill me 
with sorrow. Instead, however, of its being accom- 
panied with gloomy associations, the appearance of 
nature putting on her new array, sweetly reminds 
me of that better resurrection, which all the redeemed 
of the Lord shall one day experience. It speaks of 
the better life, into which the Christian shall be ush- 
ered, when he quits the prison of his clay. It brings 
heaven to my mind. If I were to speak of the differ- 
ence between my feelings now and formerly, I should 
say, that the view I take of divine things now, gives 
them more certainty; there is more of a practical effi- 
cacy in it, a something real and tangible, which I 
d-d not use to feel as distinctly as I do now. 

15. "He that endureth unto the end shall be saved." 
We are in an enemy's country. It will not do to 
yield, or to cease fighting. "Behold" said Christ 
to his disciples, "I send you forth as sheep among 
wolves." This is true, not only of ministers, but 
also of private Christians. But my greatest foes are 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 229 

within myself. There traitors give the enemy an 
advantage. But, oh to say, in faith, 

No fearing or doubting, 

With Christ on my side; 
I hope to die shouting, 

-The Lord will provide.' 



TO MRS. H.* OF N. B. 

Bostorij May 25, 1820. 

My dear madam. May one, who can have, no 
particular claim upon your notice, and who can offer 
no excuse for thus intruding upon you, except the 
deep interest which she feels in your present afflic- 
tion, address you thus familiarly? Since the first 
moment that I saw, in a public print, the announce- 
ment of that sorrowful event, which, I, alas! well 
know, has made your heart bleed, I have desired to 
WTite to you; have desired, and hesitated, not know^- 
ing w^hether it were best, or not, to do so. 

There are moments when v/e feel the impotence of 
our sympathy, and yet are not able to withhold the 
expression of it. It is a relief to ourselves, if it 
brings little or no consolation to the object upon 
which it is exercised. Shall I tell you then, my 
afflicted sister, that my heart aches with you, and for 
you? Shall I say, that I well understand all the ago- 
nies which you suffer? Yes, for there is, I know^ by 
experience there is, a spot in the human heart which, 
under its heaviest calamities, is conscious of expe- 
riencing some mitigation of its sorrow, from the cer- 
tainty that it does not mourn alone. And you do 
not mourn alone. Many have felt the stroke which^ 
in its heaviest effects fell on you. And many who 
do not weep for you, are lamenting a similar trial 

'The widow of a clergyman, who, immediately after returning home 
from a journey, in which he had visited Boston, and seen Mrs. Huntino-- 
ton, was, in the prime of life and of usefulness, arrested by death; leav-^ 
iug two small children. \Vith his widow, Mrs. Huntington had no p^ri 
sonal acquaintance. 

20 



230 



MEMOms OF 



inflicted on themselves. God seems to liave come 
out of his place, and to have numbered many of the 
wives and children of his prophets, widows, and 
fatherless. Help, Lord; for the godly man ceaseth, 
for the faithful fail from among the children of men! 

And now under the first overwhelming pressure 
of your present sorrows, I feel a strong desire to 
comfort you by the comfort v/herewith I myself have 
been comforted of God. I want to tell you that the 
precious promise, ''My grace is sufficient for thee," 
is sure and stedfast. With respect to the removal of 
our dear husbands, there is one consideration which 
lies at the foundation of all our other motives for re- 
signation, viz. The Loud hath done it. "Precious 
in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints." 
He will not call one of them home, till his work be- 
lov/ is finished. So long as the blessed God is pos- 
sessed, of infinite wisdom to understand perfectly 
what is best for his children, of infinite mercy to will 
all that he sees to be best for them, and of infinite 
power to execute all the purposes of his will, shall 
we not choose to have him do what he pleases^ If 
we were unwilling that he should take our beloved 
friends when he thinks proper, the question at issue 
would be— Which shall govern, the all perfect Jehovah 
or ourselves? In this view of the subject, (and it is un- 
questionably a correct view of it), who would not 
say, Let the will of the Lord be done?' Oh, we 
may be assured that the reasons which have led him 
to afflict us so deeply, are satisfactory to himself, and 
will be so to us, if we are so happy as to reach heaven 
at lastc And can we dare to wish to change what 
God sees to be necessary for us? Can we dare to 
wish our beloved husbands to stay here, when like 
their Master, they have finished their work on earth, 
and God has immediate employment for them in 
heaven? 

And, my friend, what consolation does the Gospel 
hold out to us respecting those whose removal we 



JIBS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 231 

lament; that we may not sorrow as those who 
have no hope? Where' is our love for them, if w^e 
would wish to retain them m this dark, and distant, 
and sinful world, when God sees them ripe for their 
rest? We suifer, indeed; butwesutfer alone. Those, 
whose trials we used to feel as painfully as our own, 
are far bevond the influence of the vicissitudes of 
this troubled state. They are happy. Let us rejoice 
for them. x\nd as for ourselves, we have the promise 
of an unchangeable God. that, As our days, so 
shall our strength be; that (if v.e are his children, I 
mean) all things shall, or, as your dear husband said 
to me in one of his visits of condolence when in 
Boston, ^"all things do work together for our good;" 
that we shall be brought ofi conquerors, and more 
than conquerors, through Him that loved us; that our 
tribulation shall work patience, and our patience ex- 
perience, and our experience hope; and that, in due 
time, if we follow those who, through faith and 
patience are now inheriting the promises, w^e also 
shall be made partakers of tiieir blessedness. 

We must labour, my dear friend, to ^-forget those 
things which are behind, and reach forth unto those 
things which are before." This passage has been a 
great support to me. In our circumstances, we are 
prone to enfeeble our capacities for present exertion, 
by useless regrets, and distressing retrospections, 
and unbelieving anticipations. But all this is wrong. 
To us it belongs to suffer patiently, bear cheerfully, 
and perform faithfully the will of God, now. He 
w^ill provide for to-morrow. Let us also look to our 
Saviour, and learn that the disciple must expect to 
be as his Lord, and his servant as his Master. 

Among the passages of Scripture which your dear 
departed husband mentioned to me w^hen here, two 
have comforted me much. One w^as, '"^Be thou 
strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus," not in 
yourself. The other was, "Ye shall not afflict 
any widow, or fatherless child. If thou afflict them 



^"^-^ MEMOIRS OF 

in any wise, and they cry at all unto me, I will sure- 
ly hear their cry." He also read me a sermon of 
his (for T was not well enough when he was here to 
attend church), from the text, ^'It is good for me 
that I have been afflicted." It will be a comfort to 
you, I think. Oh, if he could speak to you now, he 
would bid you rejoice for him, and be afraid of noth- 
ing but sin. His visits, when he was in Boston, 
were very pleasant to me. He felt for my sorrows; 
and now I feel for yours. But if God loves us, he 
feels more for us than any human friend. And if he 
smites us, it is because he sees we need it. 

I cannot ask you to write, and tell me some of the 
particulars of the sorrowful event, because I do not 
know as you will be able. But if you could without 
too great an effort, it would be a great satisfaction to 
me. I think we widovvs of clergymen, should form 
a community by ourselves; and never bend the knee 
without remembering, before the Father of mercies, 
our sorrowful situation, and the children whom God 
has given us. We need each other's prayers. 

Adieu, my dear afflicted friend. May He who 
hath broken, bind up; He who hath wounded, heal. 
He can. I trust he will! To him I commend you, 

TO MRS. T. OF I>. 

Boston, June 6, 1320. 

Yes, we can say, 'It is good for us that we have- 
been afflicted,' while vre look, not at the things which 
are seen, but at the things which are not seen; and 
no longer. Viewed merely in a temporal light, our 
sorrows are a cloud Vv^ithout sunshine, the thickness 
of darkness. Do you always feel as if you can say, 
''I bless him for all that is past, and can trust him 
for all that is to come?" Or do you sometimes feel 
like Peter, when he followed his Master over the 
tumultuous waters, and found his faith failing, and 
his feet sinking? The latter describes my ex- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 233 

perience; though I have reason to thank God, that 
the prevailing frame of my heart has been cheerful 
satisfaction with the divine government. 

If there is any lesson which I have been learning, 
of late, more completely, more painfully, I should 
say, than others, it is my own sinfulness and weak- 
ness. I have felt more deeply than ever before, that. 
if I get to heaven, it will be grace that brought me 
there. There maybe those vrho can bear constant 
sunshine. But it is not so with me. However, my 
dear friend, God knows what we both need, and 
what we can bear. Whether we walk by the light 
of the pillar of fire, or under the shadow of the pillar 
of a cloud, still we are guided and preserved by a 
faithful and unchanging God. O how like a cordial 
to the sin-sick soul is the reflection, that its salvation 
is of grace; not obtained by its own imperfect, sinful 
services. 

We must not wonder, my dear friend, to perceive 
imperfections and follies in our children who are not 
sanctified, when we see so much amiss in ourselves. 
We should lay hold, with steady, practical and per- 
severing resolution, of their faults; and not be dis- 
couraged, if the remains of evils which we had 
supposed completely subdued, spring up again, seem- 
ingly, as powerful as ever! He that laboureth per- 
severmgly, shall come again with rejoicing, bringing 
his sheaves with him. Pray, when you pray, for 
me, that, if any of my children are soon to be 
removed from this world, both they and I may be 
prepared for such an event. We should feel such 
a stroke now deeply. 

June 9. I spent the last week at A. I was, in 
respect to spiritual things, very dull while there, 
and several days after my return; but am now in a 
better frame. I had serious doubts, while at A., of my 
personal religion. But my mind was very gloomy 
about every thing. Oh, can it be possible that I 
20* 



234 MEMOIRS O^ 

know nothing of communion with God? The occt'i-^ 
sion of my doubts was, a sense of my great sinfulness^ 
It seemed as if there could be no grace in such a 
heart. But I think I do determine to cleave unto 
the Lord; to choose to suffer affliction, if need be^ 
with his people, rather than have mj portion here. 
And when I feel my hope of acceptance with God 
the strongest, I feel the most unquenchable desires 
to serve him with my heart, my w^hole heart. When 
my hope of his soul-comforting favour wavers, I 
droop. If his love is lost, all is lost; heaven and 
earth are whelmed in one dark and chilling cloud 
of hopeless sorrow. 

22. I have been looking over an old journal kept 
previously to my marriage. O how like a dream 
my past life looks! Where are the days that have 
gone by? Fled, with the friends of my childhood.: 
forever. 

The clouds and sun-beams, on very eye^ 
That, then, their shade and glory threW; 

Have left, on yonder silent sky. 
No vestige where they flew. 

Sparely we do "pass our days like a tale that is told.'' 
But in every thing I behold my husband, my dear 
husband. All that I ever loved or feared, all that 
excited pleasure, or produced disgust, speaks of the 
friend whose image is associated with all. Yes, this 
heart, faithful to its trust, can never, never cease to 
f emember thee, friend of my bosom; once mine, 
now removed, from her who loved thee much, to 
Him who loved thee better! A chasm is left, which 
he filled; a chasm not to be described; a chasm I have 
trembled to look at. But I remember that others 
suffer also. And shall this selfish heart bleed for its 
own sorrows alone? No, no. When I am pouring 
forth the prayers of my soul for others, when I strive 
to lessen the anguish which rends the besom of oth- 
ers, in affliction, my own sorrow is lessened also. I 
feel that I am but one member of the general body, 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON\ 2oJ 

that by diffusing my sympathies and my sorrows to 
all the members, their intenseness is softened, their 
effects chastised and elevated, and that what, felt for 
myself alone, would have led me to an absolute re- 
signation of my soul to the influence of despair, 
when diffused, diverts my mind from itself, and 
drives me to a throne of grace in behalf of others, 
more constantly and earnestly than before. 

TO A FRIEND AT N. H. 

June 28, 1820. 

I have just been thinking, my dear E., what in- 
consistent creatures we are. When Mrs. T. was 
here, I could not write to you, because I was not in 
good spirits. To-day I am not in good spirits, and 
take up my pen to endeavour, by writing, to divert 
and divide my thoughts. Sometimes, I find, when 
I strive to rouse my mind, rendered inert by an ex- 
clusive contemplation of its own calamities, to some 
degree of interest in the joys and sorrows of others, I 
am richly repaid for the effort by a partial alleviation 
or suspension of personal suffering. And who, my 
dear friend, does not suffer? I chide my selfish 
heart for brooding, with withering anguish, over its 
own afflictions, as if there was no other being in the 
universe to pity. 

Have you ever read Flavel's Token for Mourners? 
I hope, however, this letter will find you in less 
need of such helpers than you have been. I do 
not mean that the work is not good. It is a favour- 
ite book of mine. But I hope you are now able to 
rejoice that the will of the Lord is done. I think 
you and I, dear E., are both, from our constitutional 
intenseness of feeling, in danger of yielding our- 
selves up to the dominion of sorrow. My beloved 
friend, is it well for us to "cast a longing, lingering- 
look behind" very often, when we are conscious, that 
every such look tears open afresh a wound, which 



236 



MEMOIRS OF 



may bleed to the last hour of life"? I acknowledge 
that I dare not trust myself with a frequent view of 
the past. The poor, frail spirit, cramped and clog- 
ged and enfeebled by the tenement of clay it inhab- 
its, faints at the retrospect of friendships sundered, 
never to be renewed on earth, of enjoyments which 
I shall experience no more forever. As long as 
we live in this world, we have something to do in 
it. Our great wisdom and our happiness lie, in en- 
deavouring to be pleased with all that God does for 
us, and in striving on our part to do something for 
him. It is a hard lesson to learn; but let us remem- 
ber that, if we labour after such a state of mind, 
God has promised that he will, one day, bruise sin 
and Satan under our feet. 

July 2. I think I did desire to say something 
profitable to my children to-day, and to have some 
token that it was so. I scarcely ever had more free- 
dom in prayer for them and with them, that God 
would be pleased to speak by me to their hearts. 
And they appeared solemn, and aifected. Oh that 
the word may be like good seed lodged in good 
ground; though buried, preparing to produce a rich 
harvest. I find it a great assistance to me in prayer 
for my children, to remember that God has been our 
God for many generations back. 

4. A day on which the world are rejoicing. And 
a day on w^hich I rejoice too; but for a different 
reason. So far as these violent and turbulent ex- 
pressions of gladness affect me, it is with sadness. 
But I am rejoicing in that freedom with w^hich 
Christ makes his people free. I rejoice that all the 
redeemed of the Lord are fast gathering into the 
kingdom of their Saviour. I rejoice that my hus- 
band is there. I rejoice in the hope of this blessed- 
ness for myself. I rejoice in the manifestations of 
my Saviour's love while travelling through this val- 
lev of tears. I envy not the w^orldling his joys. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 237 

My heart longs that such may be made the subjects 
of the redeeming grace of God forever. 

12. How great a benefactor should I esteem that 
man, who could tell me how to resist sin effectually, 
in its first operations. When the specious tempta- 
tion is first held out to the soul, then is the time to 
say, 'Get thee behind me Satan.' But, oh! shame 
and confusion belong unto me! Why, do I harbour 
these traitors, these enemies, within me? Dear Sav- 
iour, thou hast told me what to do. Thou hast promis- 
ed me strength. Why then am I so often betrayed 
into the snare which a subtle foe lays for my feet. 
Why is my resistance to sin so feeble? 

TO A FRIEND IN A. 

Boston, July 13, 1820. 

We ought to cultivate a cheerful view of all the 
providences of God both as they respect ourselves, 
and others. There is always, in this world, a bright 
side to every thing, but sin. There are always alle- 
viating circumstances attending the most afflictive 
dispensations. It is a great attainment in Christian 
wisdom, to be able to discover these lucid spots in 
the cloudy atmosphere which envelopes us, in the 
present state, to give God the praise for them, and 
take to ourselves, and impart to others, the com- 
fort of them. Our dear departed friend, Mrs. Mason, 
was, I think, a remarkable example of cheerful 
piety? I scarcely ever heard her speak of any dis- 
pensation of providence, in which she could not dis- 
cover much of mercy. And if we all possessed more 
of her faith, the ills of this life would be light 
afflictions, and work for us a far more exceeding and 
eternal weight of glory. 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW AT N. L. 

Boston, July 20, 1820. 

The winter passed comfortably. I can complain 
of nothing but myself. All the paths of the Lord 



238 MEMOIRS OP 

have been mercy and faithfulness unto me. And 
now, my dear sister, I might tell you, that my un- 
faithfulness to the best of fathers, the kindest of 
friends, have been equalled only by His mercy and 
patience and loving kindness. But to tell you of 
these things would do no good. I will say, how- 
ever, that the longer I live, the more deeply I am 
made to feel by bitter experience, that sin will 
cleave to me till I die; that every moment which 
bears me fresh mercies from God, swells, propor- 
tionably, the mighty number of my sins, because it 
adds to the number and weight of those obligations 
which are upon me, of entire devotedness to my 
God, not one of which can ever be cancelled. Yet 
I feel that it will be sweet to be eternally indebted 
to Jehovah; that it will be sweet to sing the praises 
of that grace, whose height and depth and length 
and breadth we shall never be able to measure. 

July 24. I have been thinking how unwise it is. 
to suffer our happiness to be the sport of every 
selfish, or capricious, or unfeeling mind. And this 
is always the case, when we attach undue weight to 
human opinions. The heart that is rendered miser- 
able because an acquaintance does not, to-day, meet 
it with all the cordiality of yesterday, is to be pitied. 
For, in this world, where selfishness and whim 
govern the many, and where ill health, anxiety, 
affliction and other causes, are so apt to affect the 
external appearance of the few, such occasions of 
disquietude must frequently occur. It is wise, then, 
to feel, as far as possible, that our dependance for 
happiness is supremely on God, who changeth not; 
to seek his approbation as our first object; to be 
thankful for earthly friends; to strive to deserve 
them; and to labour after that equable frame of affec- 
tion towards all men which shall not be entirely 
governed by self-love, or the degree of affection with 



MRS. SUSAN HLNTINGTOK. 239 

which ours is reciprocated. This is the love of a 
noble mind, the love of a Christian. 

29. We are apt to become selfish under the en- 
durance of affliction, and to act as if we supposed 
every one must feel the same interest in our trials 
that we do ourselves. But the disinterestedness 
which is able to consign the memory of a beloved 
friend to oblivion, by the voluntary confinement of 
recollections connected with that friend to one's ow^n 
bosom, is of a high order. There are moments, when 
a generous mind cannot but feel the insignificance of 
human praise or blame. It is for a few months or 
years, and where is it? Blessed is the man whose 
"record is on high;" whose name is recorded, not 
merely in the changeful remembrances of cotem- 
poraries, but in the Lamb's book of life; who can 
receive this testimony, that he pleases God. 

August 1. I do not feel quite well; and when my 
health is feeble, my animal spirits always decline. 
I feel weak, and exposed to every assault, from 
within and from without. The guide of my youth 
is gone My earthly prop is broken. He, who was 
ever at my side to counsel me wdth all the meek- 
ness of wisdom, whOc in my seasons of spiritual 
darkness, was ever near, and ready to lend me the 
unobtrusive, but steady and unwavering light of his 
own faith and his own lovely example, will smile 
upon me no more. That light is removed. Oh, 
why did I improve it so little while it continued to 
shine upon me9 And yet, I do find comfort in com- 
mitting the keeping of my soul unto God, as unto a 
faithful Creator, and most ri^fhteous Judo^e. Thouoh 
I am naturally of a fearful heart, he has helped me 
wonderfully. And will he forsake me now\ 

22. 'Where is Mrs. Huntington?' Often do I 
hear this interrogation: but not in the pleasant tones 
of a faithful, tender, and confiding husband as I 
used to do. It is sometimes the careless question of 
indiflference, sometimes the peevish question of per- 



240 



MEMOIRS OF 



plexity or ill humor; but never, no never now, the 
soothmg inquiry of the friend, the sound of whose 
footstep was always so sweet to my ear, the friend 
w^hose every interest, every pursuit, every aflfectiony 
were so intimately connected with mine, as to make 
us always rejoice to meet each other, even af er an 
absence of only a few hours. If there ever was a 
year when we were, in a sense, more entirely de- 
voted to each other, when our attachment was more 
ardent, our happiness in each other greater, than at 
any other period since our marriage, it was the last 
year of our connexion. What it was to have all these 
ties sundered at one stroke, those may know who 
loved as I did. 

30. I know several whom I think better Chris- 
tians than myself, who are frequently disturbed with 
doubts of their good estate. Since my dear husband's 
death, I have had, comparatively, few doubts. Is this 
because t am proud and self-righteous, or ignorant 
of myself. I do trust my hope is grounded on the 
fulness of Christ, and the freeness of his grace, and 
not on any thing else. I do trust I have something 
of a filial spirit toward my blessed God, something 
of a voluntary renunciation of my own will, some 
sweet satisfaction with the divine government, some 
complacency in Jehovah's character, some sincere 
desires to do his will, resist the sin he hates, and be 
conformed to his image. I think I have fed on his 
precious word, and do take it as my heritage forever. 
Oh, if I know nothing of all this, what have been 
my supports, my enjoyments, my hopes^ my fears,i 
my daily consciousness, all the year past^ Ought I, 
oh my Saviour, to doubt the reality of what thou 
hast done for me.'^ 

Septemher 4. How infinitely good is God, still 
to continue his consolations to one who forfeits them 
every step of her progress! I think I felt last night, 
some brokenriess of heart in view of the sins of the 
day; and that I longed for cleansing, as well as for 



ivms. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 241 

forgiving, grace. Salvation, would be no salvation, to 
me, if it were not salvation from sin. And this morn- 
ing, I have sweet peace within. Oh the riches of 
God's grace! — And shall I ever go on in this way: 
making such returns for the Saviour's goodness? On 
his part, mercy upon mercy; on mine, declension 
upon declension, sin upon sin! Every day, every 
moment, the polluting torrent flowing; debasing, 
degrading all that I do, and say, and think! And 
♦vill not death be welcome, if it gives me the victo- 
ry? I thought so last night. 

9. Last night was a sorrowful one. I did not 
expect to sleep. All the scenes of the year before, 
like distracting visions, were before me. To-day, I 
feel extremely feeble. — ^I read this morning in course, 
the first chapter of the epistle of James. It seemed 
exactly adapted to my case. The Bible is a won- 
derful book. I think I can say with the Psalmist, 
"Unless thy law had been my delights, I should 
then have perished in my affliction." This book 
has done more for me than all the men on earth, 
and all the angels in heaven, could have done. 
Though even the Bible is only an instrument. It is 
to us just what God makes it. To him be the praise. 

TO HER ELDEST DAUGHTER; GIVEN HER ON HER BIRTH- 
DAY. SEPTE3IBER 10, 1S20. 

My dear child. You know that after man's apos- 
tacy from God, it pleased the merciful Jehovah to 
declare to him his gracious purpose of saving some 
of our race from merited destruction, through the 
atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ. You also know- 
that, agreeably to this gracious declaration, God has 
always had a seed to serve him; or, in other words, 
that, since the world was made, there has always 
been a class of persons called the Church, who 
have professed themselves to be the people of God. 
in distinction from the rest of the world. God has 
21 



242 



MEMOIRS OF 



also been pleased to say that he will not only be the 
God of believers, but of their seed after them. It has, 
accordingly, been the custom, in all ages, for be-- 
Keving parents to dedicate their infant offspring to 
God, before the advent of the Saviour by circum- 
cision, and since that event by baptism. It has been 
your privilege to be bom of parents professedly be- 
longing to this blessed family of believers. 

You have been baptized. I will endeavour to 
explain to you the nature of this ordinance. In 
baptism you were given to God, to be his child. 
All your powers and faculties were consecrated to 
his service. Your parents, by that act, professed 
their determination to bring you up as a Christian; 
that they renounced this world as your portion, 
and took God for your portion; that they desired for 
you a moral nature, that would love, the service of 
your God here, and the enjoyment of the holy hap- 
piness of heaven hereafter, above all other things; 
and that they would endeavour to keep you from 
following the course of this wicked world, which 
is in a state of rebellion against the God whom they 
wished you to serve. They vowed unto the Lord 
that they would bring you up for him, and would 
strive to prevent your acquiring any habits, con- 
forming to any fashion, and forming any friendships^ 
w^hose probable tendency would be to prevent your 
becoming the disciple of Jesus Christ. This is what 
your parents have done for you. But, in order to 
your being interested in God's precious covenant, 
you must cordially, willingly, and joyfully, make 
all this your own act. You must agree to what your 
parents have done. You must choose the Lord for 
yourself. Blessed children who make such a choice! 
Wretched children, who trample on all these obliga- 
tions, and make their way, through all these vows 
and engagements, to the gulph of despair! Oh, my 
dear child, will you not go, with your parents, to 
heaven.'* 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 243 

I have written for you a short, simple covenant; 
which you may sign, if you are determined to 
serve God, But remember, it is better not to vow, 
than to vow and not perform. 

COVENANT. 

Oh most gracious Jehovah! Thou hast commanded 
us to love and serve thee. Thou hast provided a 
way w^hereby we may be saved. Jesus Christ has 
died for sinners. And through him, thou canst 
infuse into our carnal hearts a principle of holy 
love, which shall constrain us to serve thee with a 
willing and filial spirit. I am a sinner; by nature an 
alien from thee, exposed to thy wrath, dead in tres- 
passes and sins. But I now desire, through Jesus 
Christ, and on account of his atonement, whereby 
even sinners may hope for mercy, to give myself 
wholly to thee. I give myself to God the Father, 
as my rightful Sovereign, my merciful Father, 
and my constant Benefactor; to God the Son, as 
my Prophet, Priest, and King, my only Saviour and 
Redeemer; and to God the Holy Ghost, as my 
Sanctifier, Guide, and Comforter: humbly prayinsf 
for grace to devote myself entirely and eternally to 
thee; that I may esteem it my highest happiness to 
consecrate to thee all I am and have, my health, my 
time, my influence, my possessions, to yield my 
w411 to thine, and rejoice to be guided and governed 
by it in all things. I take thy word for the rule of 
my life, and for my comfort in death. I renounce 
this world as my best good, and take thee as my 
portion forever. 

Oh Lord, let this covenant, now made in meek- 
ness and fearfulness and trembling on eiirth, be rati- 
fied in heaven. And give me thy grace to cleave to 
it to the end of my life, for the Redeemer's sake. 
Amen. 



-44 MEMOIRS OF 

TO A FRIEND AT N. H. 

Boston^ September 24; 182Q... 

My dear E. I was glad to hear, from your- 
self, of your comfortable health and pleasant pros- 
pects. The death of your mother, occurring in the 
tune and way in which it did, must have been pecu- 
liarly trying. But it must be a great relief to you, to 
believe that she is now safely lodged in the bosom 
of the great Shepherd, admitted to the rest she 
longed for, freed eternally from that cumbrous pri- 
son, the body, in which the soul has been struggling, 
though vainly, to glorify a Being whom, alienated 
and distorted as it was, it ardently loved. ^ Hap- 
py spirit! I give thee joy. Surely it was far bet- 
ter for thee to be absent from the body, that thou 
mightest be present with the Lord. — This event is 
attended with many mitigating circumstances, and! 
trust you are already able to see much mercy in it. 

I rejoice in the birth of your dear boy, and hope 
he will be a great blessing to you, and to the world. 
But beware, my dear Friend, of making him your 
idol. Possibly you might have done this with your 
first babe. If you did, and God loves you, as I 
trust he does, you can easily see the '^need be" 
there was for its removal- Alas! that so many 
stripes should be necessary. But I feel it to be so with 
me. "Afflictions," says good Mr. Baxter, "are hke 
a hedge of thorns on each side of the strait and nar- 
row way." And how prone are we to get out at 
every gap in the hedge which we can find.^ I have 
thought much of Moses' choice, "choosing rather to 
suffer affliction with the people of God, than to en- 
joy the pleasures of sin for a season." And after a 
deliberate consideration of the subject, I trust this 

^ The lady referred to was partially deranged several of the last 
years of her life , but retained her interest in religion. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 245 

is my settled choice too. There is more comfort in 
suffermg as the Christian does when God is with 
hmi, than can be found by the most prosperous 
worldhng, in his most darling and successful schemes 
of temporal felicity. 

Sejitemher 30. 

Thought, busy thought, too busy for my peace, 
Through the dark postern of time long elaps'd. 
Led softly by the stillness of the night. 
Led like a murderer, {and such it proves), 
Strays (wretched roverl) o'er the pleasing past; 
In quest of wretchedness perversely strays. 
And finds all desert now. 

It is sometimes so with me. Then life seems a bur- 
den; and I almost long to have the chord sundered, 
which connects me with a world which has lost all 
that once rendered it delightful. These are not my 
best moments. When I feel most tired of this 
world. I feel least fitted for heaven. Any place is 
happy where God's gracious presence is enjoyed. 
Any soul may be happy which is resting on him. 
doing his will and tasting the blessedness of his 
love. It is the sweetest frame of mind, to be satis- 
fied with all that God does now, and satisfied to have 
him do what he pleases hereafter. Have I not 
known this happiness'] And was it not a foretaste 
of heaven^ 

TO A FRIEND AT B. 

Boston, October 5, 1820. 

I too feel, as Mrs. Grant says, "weary worn with 
€are." But I have been thinking how our dear 
Saviour passed through this world. Little of qui- 
etude, no intermission from intense exertion, and 
none from that kind of suffering which results from 
constantly witnessing, and deeply feeling, the sins 
and sorrows of others. And shall we, who profess 
to be followers of this self-denying Jesus, expect 
absolute exemption from the trials he endured ^o 
""21 



246 MEMOIRS OF 

constantly? Let us look unto Jesus; and learn pa- 
tience under our little crosses. Oh, my dear friend, 
is the time coming, when we shall exchange this 
stormy sea, for the peaceful haven; this weary wil- 
derness, for the heavenly Canaan^ If so, let us not 
fear. Though we pass through the deep waters, God 
will be with us. Though our hearts are ready to 
faint at the roughness of the way, he has said, '*I 
will never leave thee, nor forsake thee." Let us 
cling to our Saviour, That 

anchor hope shall firm abide ; 
And ev'ry boisterous storm outride. 

TO MRS. T., OF D. 

Boston, October 10, 1820. 

Ye?, my dear H.; I know all the weight of these 
high responsibilities. Sometimes, especially when 
my health is poor, I feel like sinking. The chief 
difficulty is in myself. I so often find myself im- 
patient, or, in some way or other, departing from 
the practice of my own principles, that my very 
heart fails me. And then I am apt to look f rward. 
and weigh myself down with burdens which 'o not 
belong to the present, but which are created by an 
imagination full of dreary anticipations. V/e are not 
promised grace now against next year. "Sufficient 
unto the day is the evil thereof." It is good for us 
to live one day at a time, to bear the burdens, en- 
dure the trials, and enjoy the comforts of every day, 
not as if they were to last forever, but as the daily 
discipline by "vhich a kind and faithful God is car- 
rying us onward through this valley of tears, to bring 
us at last to our home, our Father's house, in which 
are mansions prepared for us by our blessed Saviour, 
if indeed we are his. 

The longer I live, the more I am made to feel that 
one thing only is necessary to make me happy, even 
here; and that is, a heart stedfast in God's covenant. 
While we keep close to our Saviour, all is well. We 



MBS. SUSAN HTJNTINGTON. 247 

rejoice that it is his. air we breathe, his light we see, 
his love that blesses us with all that we enjoy, and 
his wisdom and faithfulness that inflicts all that we 
suffer; every little perplexity is referred to his will; 
everv cross is borne meekly, because it is his allot- 
ment. — Gradually we depart from this unfailing 
friend. Where now is our peace? What has so 
mightily increased the weight of our burdens, and 
crosses, and trials, and duties: Why do our spirits 
tire, and our feet move heavily] Alas! we have left 
our Helper. We have been proud, and thought we 
could ofet alon^ in our wav alone. Or we have been 
earthly-minded, and have treacherously left our best 
friend for some worldly object of complacency. Or 
we have been slothful and negligent, and our want 
of faithfulness to our God has compiled him to de- 
part from us. Oh wretched, oh foolish that we are, 
to depart so often from Him whose favour is life, and 
his loving-kindness better than life! 

But, my dear friend, is it not a delightful thought 
that God will undertake for us, and with us? Surely 
none but a God of infinite patience could bear so 
long with such rebellious children. Ought we not 
to be glad when all such earthly calculations are 
subverted, such earthly hopes blighted, as have kept 
us satisfied at a distance from Him: Only let us have 
a heart filled vrith love to God, and earth will be 
heaven. 

With respect to cur children, let us remember, 
God never calls his people to any duties, which he 
has not pledged his own faithfulnes- to ^ive them 
strength to perform, if they look to him for it in the 
Avay of his appointment. We may ask. 

How can a feeble, helpless worm^ 
Fulfil a task so hara ? 

But does not God know our frame: Does he lay 
more upon us than we are able to bear? Has he not 
^aid. ^-My grace is suflicient for thee.'^*' And is it not 



248 MEMOIRS OF 

sufficient?^ My dear H., if he has left us to have the 
whole management and care of our little ones, he 
had good reasons for so doing. And now he knows 
all that w^e need. He sees us passing through the 
wilderness. We are a feeble company: but let us 
not fear; that is, let us fear nothing but ourselves. ' 

how glorious is the grace of the Gospel! Once or 
twice lately, I have felt much delight in reflecting, 
that in Christ is treasured up every needed supply 
for every exigency, every moment of our lives. It is 
unbelief, that heavy weight, that we must lay aside, 
if we would run with patience the race set before us. 

Dear friend, another is added to our sorrowful sis- 
terhood, Mrs. Larned, recently the wife of the young 
clergyman who, you recollect, was settled, not long 
since, with such flattering prospects of usefulness, at 
New Orleans. What a world is this! How marvel- 
lous, that we cling to it still so closely! But shall not 
the day come to us, when this principle of indwell- 
ing sin, which invests the world with all its charms, 
shall be destroyed forever? Blessed hope, glorious 
hour! 

October 12. There is a candidate here, preaching 
to our congregation. I am much pleased with him; 
but, notwithstanding this, my mind is greatly dis- 
quieted. It is not that I do not wish another Min- 
ister settled over this dear people as soon as may be, 
or that they should not love him. Oh no. What 
can be the meaning of these distressing emotions? 

1 am a wonder to myself. When I do suffer, I suf- 
fer intensely. 

14. This has been a week of severe discipline. 
At such seasons I am made to see by what a slender 
thread I hold my reason. It is necessary for me. 
All these lessons ought to make me better, especial- 
ly humbler. And "as I sink, my joys shall rise." 
But when I am laid in the furnace, I fear being 
utterly consumed; forgetting the great Refiner what 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 249 

is able to preserve me, so that nothing shall be burnt 
up but the dross. 

17. My mind is filled with peace. I desire to lose 
myself in my Saviour, my interests in }iis, my will in 
his. I long for the prosperity of this dear, precious 
church, which has contained, which does contain, so 
many beloved ones. Oh that, if this young minister 
is the one God has chosen for this people, he may 
be anointed with the Holy Ghost, and specially pre- 
pared for this place! I commend him to the Saviour, 
who is able to make him just what he ought to be. 

TO MRS. H. OF N* B. 

Boston, October 20, 1820. 

My very dear friend. It is some time since I re- 
ceived your affectionate letter; and it is not because 
you have been forgotten, that I have so long delayed 
to answer it. But I will not apologise. You know 
the claims of an orphan family, a bereaved and be- 
loved people, and numerous correspondents, too well, 
for me to consider an apology to you necessary. 
Though I have not written5 I have had some sweet 
moments in commendmg you and dear Mrs. T., and 
your little helpless babes, to our common Sav- 
iour. I almost always, when I pray for our three 
sorrowful, but comforted families, feel as if I was 
bearing our common cause to One who has promised 
to be our Guide and our Guard '^all our journey 
through." We are three feeble bands passing through 
the wilderness. Our dear earthly counsellors and 
guides are taken over Jordan before us. We are left 
alone. And yet we are not alone. Oh, no. Do we 
not sometimes lean on the arm of our present Sav- 
iour? Do we not sometimes hear his voice whisper- 
ing to us, -'Fear not, I am with thee?" And though 
we wander from him, alas! too often; is he not near, 
to bring ue back to the pleasant path which it is our 
rsin and our sorrow to leave.^ Oh, my sister, is it 



250 MEMOIRS OF 

indeed so? Is this God our God? And will he be 
our guide unto death! 

I wish to know particulars respecting your situa- 
tion. I think you have two children. I have six. 
One of them is a little helpless invalid; but I trust 
one of Christ's lambs. And it is probable she will 
be gathered into the fold, where her blessed father 
is, before many years. Some secret malady has laid 
its hand upon the feeble frame which imprisons the 
soul; and, by deranging all the organs of life, has 
compelled the weary spirit to sojourn, as a disordered 
and discomforted stranger, in the tabernacle which 
confines it. Two of my children are sons; one nearly 
nine years, the other ten months, old. The others 
are girls. 

Have you seen --Babington's Practical View of 
Christian Education?" I think highly of the work, 
and believe its circulation will be attended with im- 
portant advantages to the rising generation. Its 
principles are so truly Christian, and its precepts so 
practically and circumstantially illustrated, that it is, 
in my estimation, extremely well calculated to be 
useful. 

Let us, my dear sister, in all our discouragements 
and under all our trials, imitate the example of holy 
David when in such circumstances. '^But I," he 
says, "give myself unto prayer." Let us do so; and 
we shall find our strength increase, our prospects 
brighten, and all the clouds which have darkened 
our path, scatter, and make way for the shining of 
that Sun of righteousness, whose beams have turned 
and can still turn, our mourning into rejoicing. 
Adieu, my dear friend. Let us fear nothing but 
forsaking our Saviour. Let us pray that each of us 
may keep close to Him. whose loving-kindness is 
better than life, to the end of our journey. May we 
meet in heaven! 



l^ms. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 251 

TO HER ELDEST DAUGHTER, AT A. 

Boston, October 29, 1820. 

I went, to-day, with Mr. W., to visit a sick young 
man. He could only whisper; and breathed with 
great difficulty. He said that he had never thought 
of God, as he ought to have done, when he was well; 
and that he had made no preparation for death. He 
is now much distressed, lest he shall die before his 
poor soul is interested in the love of the Lord Jesus 
Christ. He now wishes he had loved and served 
God when he was in hearth.. My dear S., will you 
not pray for him, that he may have the Holy Spirit 
given him, that he may repent of sin, and love the 
Saviour, and believe in him, before he goes into eter- 
nity? And oh, my dear child, pray often, pray 
earnestly, for yourseK. I want to have you give 
your best days, ''the dew of your youth,'' to God. 
I want to have you love and serve him from your 
earliest years. Adieu, my very dear girl. May 
the Lord bless and keep you, conduct you safely 
through all the dangers of this ensnaring world, and 
bring you at last to his kingdom. 



The letter next to be inserted seems to require a 
word of explanation. The person mentioned, under 
date of October 12, as preaching to the congregation 
of which Mr. Huntington had been Pastor, had re- 
ceived from them an invitation to settle, and had left 
Boston to visit and consult with his friends. As it 
would be inconvenient for Mrs. Huntington to change 
her residence before spring, he had proposed to her, 
if he should return, to continue in the parsonage 
house until May, and receive him and his wife into 
her family as boarders. To this arrangement she 
had given her consent. These circumstances led 
her to write as follows. 



■252 



MEMOIRS OV 



TO MRS. W.. AT G. 



Boston, Novenibei' 16; 1820.. 

My dear friend. It is with some peculiar emo- 
tions that I take up my pen to address you. Yet, 
though the circumstances under which I write might 
naturally occasion me some embarrassment, I do not 
feel as if I were addressing a stranger. I have 
thought of you so much since my last conversation 
with your husband, (whom I am happy now to 
consider as, in a certain sense, my minister,) that 
I view you in the light of a new found sister, 
whom I have not seen indeed, but for whom I feel 
that tender interest which will ripen into a sincere 
and permanent attachment when I know you better. 
Allow me then to dismiss formalities at once^ and 
hasten to the particular object of my letter. 

When Mr. W. was here, he proposed to me, that, 
if he returned, himself and you should reside in my 
family this winter, instead of commencing house- 
keeping yourselves. I was a little apprehensive 
that this proposal originated, chiefly, in a desire to 
accommodate me. Now if it was so,^ — that is, if it 
will be, not merely no disappointment, but simply 
less agreeable, to you, to make such an arrangement, 
I think I cannot consent to it. On the other hand, 
if, fifom a consideration of the season of the year, 
or any other cause, you really prefer boarding with 
me three or four months, it will be a great gratifica- 
tion to me to receive you, as well as an important con- 
venience and benefit. On some accounts, it is most 
pleasant to keep house. But if you conclude not to 
do so till spring, it will be my endeavour to render 
your stay with me as agreeable as I can. I feel that 
you will have many faults to overlook in me and 
mine. But as our friendships, in this world, do not, 
or should not, depend on our finding the objects of 
them without faults, I shall expect that even my 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON, 2o5 

faults will give me some additional claim upon your 
sympathy and affection. And the consciousness that 
much must be forgiven, will lead us to forgive much, 
will it not? If so, how tender should my judgment 
of others be? 

If being called, for a number of years, to ex- 
perience an almost constant succession of outward vi- 
cissitudes and trials, and if being exercised, through 
life, with extreme mental sufferings, have any ten- 
dency to soften the character, and to increase in the 
soul the exercise of that benevolence which leads it 
to weep with them that weep, and enables it to rejoice 
in every accession to the general happiness which is 
enjoyed in this valley of tears; it has been my own 
fault if I have derived no benefit from havin£ so 
long lived under the influence of such circumstances. 
And if a constant sense of dependance on God, not 
only for the outward blessings we need, but for the 
capacity to enjoy and unprove them, — a sense of de- 
pendance resulting from a peculiar conformation of 
mind, which renders it less able to bear or to do any 
thing of itself, than is common, — has a tendency to 
produce a kind and charitable habit of regarding the 
weaknesses of others; I am the person, of all per- 
sons, on whose heart and lips should be written the 
law of kindness. All this I have said, not from the 
pure love of talking about self, but to shew you that 
I am prepared to love you, to rejoice in your happi- 
ness, to appreciate your trials, to feel for your sor- 
rows, and to find happiness in affording you any 
advice or assistance, which, in my poor measure, 1 
am able to afford. Believe that I have already be- 
gun to anticipate the time of your coming with many 
pleasant emotions, as the period which shall give to 
me a sister and a friend, one whose situation will 
awaken in my bosom some new interests and sym- 
pathies, and one whose establishment here will add 
another to the many reasons already existing, why 



254 MEMOIRS OF 

I should prefer Boston as my residence to any other 
part of this "dim speck which men call earth." 

With respect to our future intercourse, my sister- 
allow me to say, it depends on ourselves whether it 
shall be a blessing to us or not. The connexion in 
this world which is soon to be formed between us, 
and which will be, in some respects, a pecuhar one. 
may be a source of great mutual comfort to us. It 
may also, for reasons which will at once present 
themselves to your mind, be the means of advancing 
our characters to a higher elevation of moral excel- 
lence than they v/ould otherwise have ever attained. 
And if this should be the case, (and, oh, heaven grant 
that it m.ay!) how much we shall love each other 
on earth, how much we shall love each other in 
heaven! 

My dear Mrs. W., may I be permitted to say, — 
and I Vv ould say it with deep humility, as one anx- 
ious to make the application to myself, — that our 
future usefulness and happiness depend much on our 
adoption, and practical maintenance, of one simple 
Christian principle, viz. a supreme desire that, in all 
we do, God should be glorified. Living under the 
influence of this principle, we shall have no jealousieSj 
no rivalships. I shall rejoice in the attention you 
receive, in the influence you obtain, in the good you 
accomplish; and you will reciprocate these feelings. 
This blessed principle will prevent our setting up 
any personal interests in opposition to those of our 
Master. We shall rejoice that God is glorified, 
whether he is pleased to make use of our feeble ser- 
vices or not= Just in proportion as we place our 
happiness here, it will be placed beyond the reach of 
temporal vicissitudes, and the disquieting interfer- 
ences of pride and selfishness. 

And now, my beloved friends, farewell. I* com- 
mend you to the grace of our unchangeable, cove- 
nant-keeping God. May he guide and bless you. 
'May his loving-kindness sweeten and sanctify your 



MRS. SU3AN HUNTINGTON. 255 

union, and make it a blessing to you both for many 
years on earth, if such be his righteous purpose con- 
cerning you. And may we be mutual helpers, and 
comforters, and quickeners of each other in our 
pilgrimage through the wilderness of this world. 
And may our affection for each other here, be chas- 
tened and strengthened by the precious hope of its 
receiving its final consummation in heaven. 



7 



Xovemher 22. To-morrow will be Thanksgiving 
I shall have to keep the festival 'Hvith bitter herbs.' 
But I have been thinking to-day of the terms of the 
New-Covenant, which I desire to lay hold of for 
myself and my children. Now what are they.^ 
Temporal ease and prosperity^ "I will bring you 
into the wilderness, and there will I plead with you, 
face to face." ''I will cause you to pass under the 
rod, and I will bring you into the bond of the cove- 
nant." "I Will correct thee in measure, and will not 
leave thee altogether unpunished." ^^If his children 
forsake my law, and walk not in my judgments; if 
they break my statutes, and keep not my command- 
ments; then will I visit their transgression with the 
rod, and their iniquity with stripes. Nevertheless my 
loving-kindness will I not utterly take from him, nor 
suffer my faithfulness to fail; my covenant will I not 
break, nor alter the thin^ that is gone out of 
my lips." The whole history of the Church cor- 
roborates this testimony. The promise is, I '^vill 
not leave thee altogether unpunished." Have I not 
chosen this covenant as my portion, and the portion 
of my children, fully understanding that these were 
its terms? And do I repent of my choicer No. I 
heartily renew my desire to suffer afTiiction, if need 
be, with the people of God, rather than be left to 
take up with the pleasures of sin as my portion. Oh, 
to be brought more entirely into the bond of the 
covenant! Oh, for grace to lay hold on this covenant, 



2dG 



MEMOIRS OF 



for my children, as all my salvation and all my de* 
sire in their behalf! 

23. This has not been a dull day. The work of 
praise is pleasant work. I think I can call on all 
the creation to praise the Lord, to be thankful unto 
him, and speak well of his name. I rejoice that 
saints praise him on earth; I rejoice that the spirits 
of the just made perfect, and my blessed husband 
among them, praise him better in heaven. I love 
to think of the time when I too shall praise him as 
I wish. Now 

Hosannas languish on my tongue. 

But ere long I shall see him as he is, be satisfied 
"With his likeness, and serve him without weariness, 
and without interruption, forever and ever. Blessed, 
glorious hope. 

TO A FRIEND AT A. 

Boston, November 23, 1820. 

I have perceived an alteration in my mind since 
that bitter bereavement which closed up forever, as 
to this world, one of the deepest channels through 
wiiich the tide of my affections rolled upon the crea- 
ture. An alteration which I should think very 
natural, viz. a more ardent attachment to other 
friends, than I used to feel when I had a husband 
to love. This, I say, seems natural. An affection- 
ate heart must love something. And, oh, most 
wretched is the being who, accustomed to bestow 
on an object all the strength of a generous, ar- 
dent attachment, can find nothing, en the removal 
of that object, to excite and diffuse its exercise 
again. Though God should occupy the chasm left 
within by the removal of those who, perhaps, filled 
too large a space in our hearts, he does not require 
us to love him only. And, as we are social crea- 
tures, it is a mercy that we can feel the soothing 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON^ 257 

glow of aftection transferred, in some measure, from 
one to many, if we can love that one no longer. God 
has made us so; and I bless him for it. Who could 
live, having such a stream stopped, at once, and for- 
ever? Yes, my dear E., I love you more than I used to 
do; and am not jealous lest my affection for you should 
not all be reciprocated. And this experience is not 
observed in relation to you only, but also to others. 

I did not see you enough vvhen you were last in 
Boston. Our meetings often remind me of that 
world, where all the redeemed of the Lord shall be 
gathered into one common family, be made kings 
and priests unto God, and go no more out forever. 
Blessed day! Oh, could we remove the veil which 

conceals eternity from our view, — : but it is 

not necessary; for we have a more sure word of 
prophecy, which reveals all that is required to con- 
firm our faith, and stimulate us to exertion. 

My dear E., how little we realize our high and 
holy vocation, our unspeakable privilege in being 
called the daughters of the Lord x\lmighty, — if in- 
deed we have been born of the Spirit, — our immense 
obligations, our glorious destination! If we real- 
ized these things, would it not be imoossible for us 
to live as we do^ Sinners saved by grace, through 
the application of the blood of the everlasting cove- 
nant; our suffering, bleeding, dying Surety aiid Re- 
deemer, passed into the heavens to appear in the 
presence of God for us, having left us an example 
that we should follow his steps, and gone to pre- 
pare mansions in his Father's house for us; such an 
expiation, even the precious blood of Christ; such a 
salvation, from indignation and wrath, tribulation and 
anguish^ — moral ruin hopeless and eternal, to glory, 
honour, immortality and eternal life! — oh, realizing 
these things, could we live as we do; could we be so 
earnest to obtain the contemptible honours, immuni- 
ties, and advantages of this poor, changeful world- 
could we so eagerly pursue its pleasures and deceits^- 



258 MEMOIRS OF 

could we be so discomfited by its perplexities and 
burdens; could it hold out to us, so often with suc- 
cess, its allurements, to tempt us from our Master 
and his service? Oh, no, no. 

What little things these worlds would be. 
How despicable in our eyes? 

Well, dear E., these things will all be realized 
by us soon. Whether prepared for it or not, we 
shall soon see, not through a glass darkly, but with 
the clear vision of immortality. O, how shall we 
see? Where shall we be found?— In view of this 
awful subject, all is darkness and despair when we 
iook to ourselves, when we look to any thing we 
are, any thing we have done, any thing we can do; 
it is all dark, dark, dark. But,— forever and for- 
ever, blessed be God! — we are not to look for justi- 
iication to any thing in ourselves. There is an 
all-sufficient Saviour. He came to call, not the 
righteous, but sinners, to repentance. His blood 
cleanseth from all sin. And he has said, "Him 
that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out." 
Here is hope, hope for sinners. Here let us cast 
our anchor-hope for eternity. Oh, to be found in 
Him now; to be found in Him at that awful day 
when the secrets of all hearts shall be made mani- 
fest; to be found in Him forever! As it respects 
ourselves, our great concern should be, to make our 
calling and election sure; and, as He who hath 
called us is holy, to be holy in all manner of con- 
versation: and as it respects others, that they may 
be brought within the bond of the covenant, which 
is ordered in all things and sure, and is all our sal- 
vation , and all our desire . 

I hope you remember Wednesday evenings. I 
think I sometimes have much satisfaction in praying 
for your children. I do feel as if God will bless to 
them your instructions and prayers, and those of 
vour dear husband. I do believe that God will 



MRS. StTSAN HUNTINGTON. 259 

occept this free-will offering at our hands. Has he 
not said, ''If two of you shall agree on earth, as 
touching any thing that they shall ask, it shall be 
done for them of my Father which is in heaven." 
And hath he said it, and will he not do it? Hath 
he promised, and will he not perform? Let us 
plead with him for faith to lay hold on his cove- 
nant for ourselves and ours, and believe that he will 
make sure to us those gracious terms of it, "As 
for me, this is my covenant with them, saith the 
Lord; my Spirit that is upon thee, and my words 
which I have put in thy mouth, shall not depart 
out of thy mouth, nor out of the mouth of thy 
seed, nor out of the mouth of thy seed's seed, saith 
the Lord, from henceforth and forever." Gracious 
covenant! Even so, amen. Let it be unto thine 
handmaidens, even according to this good word 
which thou hast spoken! 

JVovember 25. I am distressed to find my heart 
disturbed with the workings of pride, on a subject 
with respect to which I had hoped it was at rest. 
Oh the intricacies of the operations of this law of 
sin! — Now, oh thou meek and lowly Jesus! I do 
desire to yield myself up wholly to thee; to be, not 
only satisfied, but pleased, with that station which 
thy wisdom assigns me. If it be thy pleasure to re- 
move me from a post in which I never was faithful, 
and set another in my place, oh give me a heart to 
pray that she may be more faithful than I was. Oh 
my Saviour, I fly to thy blood to wash away the 
guilt of my past unfaithfulness, to make me more 
engaged in duty for the tim to come. Enable me 
cheerfully to take up my cross and follow thee to that 
station in thy Church which thou seest to be best 
for me; and that, not from the pride of submitting 
with magnanimity to an inevitable evil, but from 
simple, cheerful love to thy will, and confidence in 
thy wisdom! Above all things, oh dear Redeemer, 



260 MEMOIRS OF 

clothe me with humility. Make me ashamed to de- 
sire a great share of human approbation and admira- 
tion, when thou, my Lord and Master, didst have so 
different a lot during thy short and sorrowful life! 



The person of sensibility, who reflects a moment 
upon the situation of Mrs. Huntington at this period, 
will not be surprised at the strain of remark in the 
last extract, and in others of a similar character to be 
introduced hereafter. She w^as now to resign the 
station, and, in some important respects, the place 
in the affections of the beloved people of whom her 
husband had been the pastor, which she had so long 
held, to another. More than this. She was to wit- 
ness the transfer to another, of the peculiar atten- 
tions which, as the w^ife of the minister, she had, 
for so long a time, been accustomed to receive. Is 
it strange that, in these circumstances, she should 
feel, deeply feel? 

Yet the struggles of v/hich she speaks were con- 
fined to her own breast; and their existence there, 
was not even suspected by her most intimate friends. 
During ail the transactions embraced in the calling 
and settlement of another Pastor, her wonted cheer- 
fulness w^as never observed to have forsaken her. 
None appeared to be more highly gratified than she 
did, by the restoration to the church and congrega- 
tion of the privileges of a stated and settled minis- 
try. And, from the arrival of her successor, Mrs. 
Huntington manifested for her the warmest friend- 
ship, reposed in her the most entire and affection- 
ate confidence, improved every opportunity of ob- 
taining for her the respect and attachment of the 
people, and appeared to rejoice in the attentions 
she received. Such was the strength of her re- 
ligious principles, the elevation and disinterestedness 
of her piety. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 261 



TO IVmS. H. OF BRIDGE WATER. 

Boston, November 21, 1820. 

My dear sister. I am reading the Life of Henry 
Martyn. It is a precious work, and I would not be 
without it. You ought to own it, and so should 
every minister's family, if it is but to show us what a 
Christian can be. Common believers ought to 
blush, on comparing themselves with that holy man. 
For myself, I have almost been tempted to question 
whether I know any thing of that disinterested and 
noble and efficient principle, which w^as able to carry 
him onward to an eminence of practical godliness so 
distinguished and so wonderful. To see a man pos- 
sessed of all the tenderest sensibilities of our nature, 
with a heart alive to all the enjoyments of social in- 
tercourse and refined life, voluntarily sacrificing them 
all; and what, if possible, is more, to see a man of 
strong and powerful talents, abjuring the cultivation 
of his mental faculties, excepting so far as such a 
cultivation could be made to subserve a higher end; 
to see him forsake all for the self-denying life of a 
missionary and a martyr, with such a singleness of 
purpose, and such a constancy and intenseness of 
exertion, is a noble proof of the efficacy of Christian 
principles, when they are permitted to produce their 
legitimate results. And why are there no more 
Henry Marty ns? Why do we go lean from day to 
day, when the same full fountain of grace, which 
yielded him all his supplies, is open to us also? Taste, 
and live; taste, and thrive. Jesus Christ, the great 
beginner, and carrier on, and finisher of the faith of 
the meanest disciple, is the root on which every saint 
must grow. It is our own fault if we are feeble and 
withered branches. 

I think I have never seen the blessedness, and the 
safety, of living wholly on Christ, so much as of late; 
nor so much of his infinite fulness, which is open to 



262 



MEMOIRS OF 



all hit people. It is a good way to be saved by his 
grace. We do not pray enough for the greater sanc- 
tification of Christians. How much more God would 
be glorified, if Christians were holier, and more like 
their Saviour; if they were not satisfied with just 
grace enough to give them the hope of salvation? 
Then we should not remain always babes, but be 
advancing to the measure of the stature of the fulness 
of Christ. 



December 7. How much more would Christians 
accomplish, if they possessed more singleness of 
heart, a stronger and steadier purpose to live for 
God^s glory! The Lord saith, "Them that honour 
me, I will honour." To labour and suffer for Christ, 
wnth a simple reference to his glory, would secure 
to us great personal comfort and peace of mind, and, 
generally, extensive usefulness. In heaven there is 
no selfishness. It would be sufficient for any holy 
being, to occupy any corner of the celestial world 
in which his Lord had placed him, if he might be- 
hold, and be an instrument of, the manifestations of 
His glory. It would be no matter to him where he 
was, if the gracious presence of God was there. Oh 
my Father, do I not feel a little, little spark of this 
spirit? 

24. I had some sweet moments at the communion 
to-day. This is increasingly a precious ordinance 
to me. It seems to me a blessed thing to be swal- 
lowed up in God, to lose ourselves in him. These 
transient glimpses of heaven are unutterably pre- 
cious. The sermon to-day was on the treachery of 
Judas. I feel that my heart is by nature the same as 
his was — desperately wicked; and that, if I were, 
for one moment, abandoned by my great Keeper, 
the distance betvv^een my present moral character 
and that of Judas, would soon be lost. Oh that, as 
we have, this day, received Christ Jesus the Lord, 
we mayw^alk in him! This is my petition and my 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 26 



r» 



request, in behalf of myself, and of this dear church. 
Amen. 

27. I have spent some happy moments to-day, in 
the exercise of an humble hope that I am a servant 
of God. To be this, seems to me the highest hap- 
piness; a happiness of which earth and hell cannot 
deprive us. No matter where we are, if we are 
engaged in doing the work of God. What is earth; 
what is time; what are all created things; when 
God and eternity are placed in the opposite scale? 
Oh to be his forever in the sweet valley of humilia- 
tion! 

31. I am brought, through grace, to the close of 
another year. Have I made any progress in piety 
the past year? And, should I be, this night, summon- 
ed "to meet the Bndegroom," what reason have I to 
hope, that I should be permitted to go "in with him 
to the marriage.'^" 

In the first place, I humbly trust I feel a more set- 
tled and habitual purpose of soul to be wholly the 
Lord's. It seems to be more evident to my own 
consciousness and judgment, that it is my deliberate 
choice to take God for my portion, leaving all other 
matters to his wise disposal; that, although many 
scenes of worldly interest, almost daily, obtrude 
themselves upon me, and engage too much of my 
attention, yet the favour and enjoyment of my God 
do, in my practical estimation, infinitely outweigh 
them all; that I can, with some degree of propriety 
and truth, say, I count all things but loss, for the 
excellency of the knowledge of Jesus Christ my 
Lord. 

In the second place, I humbly believe, that I do 
more habitually rejoice in the government of Jeho- 
vah, as holy, just, and good, and see a beauty in 
every intelligent creature finding his happiness sim- 
ply in being the servant of God, to do his will, and 
promote his glory, than I used to do. It seems to 
me an excellent and glorious thing, for a creature to 



264 MEMOIRS OF 

lose his own interests in those of the blessed God; 
and, if I know my own heart, I do pant after this 
attainment more than after the acquisition of any 
earthly good. And I do believe that it is my habit- 
ual desire and purpose, to make the doing of the will 
of God my daily employment; though I am continu- 
ally falling into sin, and not acting up to my own 
principles and desires: and it is my grief and burden 
that I do not perform his will perfectly. 

In the third place, the example of my Lord and 
Master, and of the blessed saints and martyrs who 
have gone before to heaven, have a beauty and glory 
in them which put out the lustre of all other great- 
ness; and I long for their spirit, in my poor measure, 
with such a desire, that, much as my feeble nature 
trembles at the prospect of suffering, I think I feel 
quite willing to be carried through the fire of tribu- 
lation, God helping me, if this blessed end may be 
attained. And the attainment of this blessed end I 
desire, if I am not deceived, not, solely, or princi- 
pally, to give me a stable hope of salvation, but, 
chiefly, because conformity in heart and life, in 
desire and pursuit, to the Vv^ill of God, appears to me 
to have, in itself, a moral beauty which outweighs 
the loss of temporal ease and comfort. This, I think, 
is my settled feeling; more so, I humbly hope, than 
it was at the beginning of the year. 

In the fourth place, I humbly trust I see more 
than I did a year ago, of the glory and beauty of 
the way of salvation which God has provided — sal" 
vation wholly by grace. Indeed I can conceive of 
no other way in which we could be saved. Salva- 
tion from first to last, by the grace of God, through 
the merits of the blessed Redeemer, seems a wise, a 
holy, and a good v*^ay of salvation. My soul rests 
upon Christ. And here, I feel, is a firm and sure 
resting place, for the spirit which has been tossed on 
the troubled sea of its own efforts to procure accept- 
ance with God. I desire to live upon Christ, daily, 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 2G5 

and hourly; to draw all my supplies from this full 
fountain. And I think I perceive more of the bless- 
edness, and feel more of the "quietness," of thus 
living, than formerly. 

These are some of the reasons of the hope that is 
in me. And I, prevailingly, do not doubt, that a 
work of grace has been begun in my soul; because 
these desires and feelings, if I have them, are not 
the fruit of the natural heart, but of the Spirit; and I 
do think, after repeated, careful, and prayerful exam- 
inations, that I have such feelings and desires. And 
it is my fervent wish, to forget the things that are 
behind, and press on toward perfection; to be found, 
living or dying, the servant of God, placing all my 
happiness in him. 

The darkest sign against me is, I think, the want 
of humility, of a broken and contrite heart, day by 
day. I do desire to hate sin more. But the feeble- 
ness of the resistance I make to it, in watching against 
declensions from God, distresses me. There is also 
much of the detestable feeling of pride still in my 
heart. Blessed Saviour, undertake for me! Go thou with 
me through another year^if it is thy purpose to spare 
me so long; and be my righteousness, my strength, 
my sanctification, my consolation, my all in all. 



During the year which she closed in the pious and 
instructive manner so interestingly described in the 
above extract, Mrs. Huntington w rote, and permitted 
to be published, anonymously, a Tract, entitled "A 
Letter to a Friend recovered from sickness," and a 
book for children, entitled, '^Little Lucy, or the 
Careless Child Reformed." The Letter makes a 
part of No. 88, of the publications of the American 
Tract Society at Boston. The story of "Little Lu- 
cy" is highly interesting; and parents, as well as 
children, may be profited by its perusal. 



23 



;66 



MEMOIRS OF 



January 4, 1821. I am in a quiet and happy 
frame. My fature path and circumstances look 
peaceful, because they will be just what my God 
pleases. It is my settled desire never to sit' down 
as at home, on this side Jordan. To he the Servant 
of God, living, and dying, and in eternity; — this is 
happiness. 

6. This day I set apart as a day of fasting and 
prayer, (not absenting myself from my family), in 
reference, particularly to my dear little Joshua; that, 
having been graciously carried through his weaning, 
he may be wholly the Lord's. Notwithstanding in- 
terruptions, I have had a very solemn day. I read 
in the morning, parts of the 4th, 5th, 6th, 8th, and 
9th, chapters of Deuteronomy. I had a sweet and 
solemn sense of the unchangeablenessofGod, and of 
his gracious covenant, and of my obligation to believe 
in the certainty of all his engagements. I viewed 
the covenant made with the Children of Israel and 
their seed, many hundred years ago, as the same, 
substantially with that which believers are permitted 
to embrace now. Oh the marvellous grace of God! 
As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are his 
ways higher than our ways, and his thoughts than 
our thoughts! Some part of the time, I think I felt 
a wrestling spirit in prayer; a sense of the presence 
of my God, of the meanness of temporal things, of 
the wonderful grace manifested in God's entering 
into covenant with me, a transgressor, a rebel; some 
sweet assurance that he will be my God, and the 
God of my children; and some precious consolation 
in the reflection, that all this grace is not promised 
for my worthiness sake, but on account of the obedi- 
ence unto death of the incarnate Son of God, that it 
is the purchase of his infinite merits. Oh to cleave 
to this covenant forever! 

I feel as if I have gained some strength to-day. It 
has been, on the whole, a good season; though my 
mind was, apart of the time, disturbed by interrup- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON, 267 

tions. — And now Lord, I take thee for my portion, 
and the portion of my children, forever! Accept me 
and them as thy servants, thy children; and do with 
us according to thy word: Amen, and amen. 

12. I expect Mr. and Mrs. W. next week. My 
mind is quiet and tranquil. Unused as I am to the 
kind of care which their boarding with me will occa- 
sion, especially connected with the peculiarities 
of the case, so wounding to memory and to nature; 
1 cannot but feel, that, much as I love Mr. W., and 
much as I expect to love his wife, this is a trial. 
When it was first proposed to me, I thought it could 
not be. But it is so evidently the call of duty, that 
I dare not refuse. And I feel so much peace in the 
desire I have to glorify God, that I am willing he 
should choose the way. It seems very unimportant 
to me how other matters go, if my God will enable 
me to be his servant and to glorify him. "None of 
us liveth to himself," has been a sweet text to me of 
late. So would I live, blessed Saviour! forever. 
Amen! 

13. Surely I have reason, if any one has, to feel 
like a stranger and a pilgrim on the earth. All the 
ties of near relationship, my children excepted, by 
which I was bound to this world, have been, one 
after another, sundered. And now I wish never to 
have any of these earthly ties renewed. My rela- 
tionships are in heaven; I feel a peculiar, peaceful, 
melancholy, satisfaction in this consciousness, daily. 
It seems like a still small voice from the world of 
spirits, admonishing me to be girding myself to my 
journey, and setting my face homeward. It is well, 
Father, it is well. Only help me to cling to Thee 
forever; only remember me, in life, and in death: 
and I ask no other portion. Thou knowest best. Do 
with me as seemeth good unto thee. 

19. In conversation with a mere child of the 
world to-day, my natural vivacity and openness led 
me to a cheerful and lively carriage., which, I am 



268 



MEMOIRS or 



afraid had the appearance of levity. But it was very 
far from my heart. I am, sometimes, in danger 
iiom this quarter, notwithstanding al) the disciphne 
vrith which I have been exercised. I do behev€ it 
is a settled principle of my heart to desire to glorify 
God. This is my joy; that for which I wish to live, 
to die, to be raised again. But, alas! though this is 
with me a settled principle, how deficient am I in 
its habitual application? How often do I lose sight 
of it? or, rather, how seldom do I refer all that I do 
in the common affairs of life, to this end? O Lord! 
teach thy sinful child to watch over these wandering 
affections, which so often get entangled in the things 
ivhich my principles and my judgment do not regard 
m I regard thee! Let me not be diverted from the 
things not seen, by the deceiving trifles and cares of 
this visible, but transitory world! 

TO MRS. H. OF BOSTOlSr. 

Boston, January 23, 182L 

I should have been concerned lest your kind and 
flattering commendations of me, would produce an 
effect on my mind, which you, as well as myself, 
would disapprove, had I received them at an ordinary 
time. At present, however, I am passing through a 
course of discipline, which makes me feel that I am 
dust and ashes; so that I am not in quite my usual 
danger of self-elation. I cannot but be affected with 
your tender expressions of kindness. But the more 
I feel that I am nothing, the happier I am. And, 
my beloved friend, it is now my desire, hereafter to 
make the promotion of the glory of God my object, 
my end, my happinesso I wish to seek no other, to 
desire no other. But, oh! it is a hard lesson for 
poor, depraved nature. Yet I think I am willing to 
suffer, if I may but learn it. Oh, to remember heaven 
as my home; Christ as my portion; and myself as 
made only for Him, to be his servant; and to let him 



3ms. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 269 

choose the place where, and the work by which, I 
shall serve him; to lose my will in his, my interest 
in his; to love the Church because it is his body, and 
to choose nothing but what he chooses! This is what 
I am labouring after. 

January 27. My birth day. I am this day 
thirty years old. I wished to have spent the dhy 
in fasting and prayer, but could not. I have had 
little opportunity or time for retirement, and my 
soul has, consequently been in a languid, earthly 
frame. I can have no spiritual prosperity without 
more time for secret prayer, than I have been able 
to devote to this important and delightful duty of 
late. — Mr. and Mrs. W. came five days ago. My 
feelings have, thus far, been w^onderfully less tried 
than I expected. Oh, to consecrate myself anew. 
soul, and body, and spirit, to the Lord, from this 
time forth, and forever. 

February 17. I have been, for some days past, 
in a state of criminal distance from God, of worldli- 
ness and of sloth. My secret prayers have been short, 
and hurried, and formal. I have been trvins: to have 
my heart broken before God to-night. I long for a 
humble, a contrite heart. To-morrow, I am, if provi- 
dence permit, to attend the holy communion. There 
are several things for which I wish to be enabled to 
wrestle with God, when I draw near to him at his 
table. Particularly, grace, to use all temporal mer- 
cies with a reference to his glory; to be more en- 
gaged and spiritual in family prayer; to redeem time, 
that I may have more opportunities for secret devo- 
tion; and to be humble, that I may not think so 
much of the good opinion of men. Next week is 
assigned for the ordination. I ought to be much in 
prayer, for Mr. W. and the dear flock, as well as for 
myself and children. Oh, to weep over my sins! 
Blessed Saviour, let to-morrow be to me a stren^tli^ 
cning, humbling season. 
23* 



^TO MEMOIRS OF 

19. I enjoyed, I trust, something of the presence 
of my Saviour yesterday. The grace of God, in 
taking such a worm, such a rebel as I am, into cove- 
nant with himself, is wonderful. Oh, what am I, and 
what is my father's house! I felt that I did not 
deserve the crumbs which fell from my Master's 
table. But hitherto I have been nourished with the 
children's bread. Oh, to glorify God, in my body, 
and in my spirit, which are God's! 

21. The day is past, which has given to this peo- 
ple another minister, to occupy the place of him who 
will ever live in my fond remembrance. I have not 
been in as prayerful a frame as I ought. My mind was 
too much occupied with personal feelings. And yet, 
I hope, I felt that I had no interests in opposition to 
those of God; and that the predominant desire of my 
heart was, that he would glorify himself. Oh, for 
humility! Oh, to go with my face in the dust, for- 
ever! Backslider is my name. Yet, 'Hvhom he 
calls, them he also justifies; and whom he justifies, 
them he also glorifies." Here is my hope, in the 
unmerited, rich, sovereign, and unchanging love ol' 
God. Here I cast my anchor. Here let me take 
up my rest forever. 



TO MISS , OF BOSTON, AT 



Boston, March 9, 1821. 

My dear S. 1 have been reading a letter of yours, 
this afternoon, with which I was much interested: 
and, although I do not expect to suggest to your 
mind any new truths in reference to your present 
circumstances, I feel a strong desire to write a few 
lines to you this evening. This desire results, if 1 
know my own heart, from an earnest wish for your 
welfare, and the humble hope of saying something 
which the great Searcher of hearts may be pleased to 
ble.ss to you. 



MK3. SUSAN HUNTIXGTOX. 2T1 

I have many reasons, my dear S., for being inter- 
ested in you. I love you for your parents sake. 
And I love you, as being one of the lambs of that 
flock of which my dear husband was so recently the 
overseer; and I cannot but rejoice when any of these 
"little ones" are gathered into that spiritual king- 
dom, which is dearer than any, than every, thing- 
else, to all the members of it. Your situation at 
present, my dear girl, is a critical one. God has 
been calling you in many ways of late, and I do hope 
that he is now, himself, preparing your heart to 
answer the call — "Wilt thou not, from this time, 
cry unto me, My Father, thou art the Guide of my 
vouth?" 

ml 

Let me entreat you to be earnest in religion. Re- 
member that no great object is likely to be obtained, 
without persevering diligence, and a courageous de- 
termination not to be defeated by difficulties. If 
this is the case in reference to temporal objects, the 
attainment of which is opposed only by natural hin- 
drances, surely it is the case with spiritual things. 
If the acquisition of human science can be accom- 
plished only by labour and diligence, when the object 
of pursuit is often pleasant and agreeable to the nat- 
ural taste, oh, with what earnestness, and strength of 
effort, must that spiritual knowledge be sought and 
laboured after, which is eternal life, and the acquisi- 
tion of which is rendered so inexpressibly difficult, 
by all the moral hindrances wliich result from a 
nature uholly averse and opposed to it? Difiicult 
indeed, impossible would it be for us to obtain this 
best of all knowledge, the knowledge of ourselves 
and of the Lord Jesus Christ, were not the grace and 
strength of Ilim, who is able to save to the utter- 
most, promised to all, who really seek them. "It is 
God which worketh in us, both to will and to do of 
his good pleasure;" and, on this account, we are 
exhorted to "work out our own salvation, with fear 
and trembling." 



272 MEMOIRS OF 



But remember, my dear S., you have a part to 
perform in this great work. Strive to understand 
what that part is. In reading the blessed word ol' 
God, carefully distinguish between what He has 
engaged to do, and what he requires you to do. Do 
your part faithfully, and he will certainly perform 
his. When I say you have something to do, I do 
not mean that you can do any thing which will serve 
you as a ground of justification, any thing to lay the 
Most High under any obligation to bestow his mercy 
upon you. What the precise connexion is, which 
God has established between those means and duties 
which he prescribes to his creatures, and the attain- 
ment of his blessing, we do not know. Nor is it neces- 
sary w^e should. One thing we do know, — that it is 
the duty of every subject of God's moral government, 
to observe all the statutes of the Lord, to do them. 
You are called upon to seek first the kingdom of 
God, to strive to enter in at the strait gate, to ask 
that you may receive, to repent and believe the Gos- 
pel, to enrol yourself on the Lord's side, to renounce 
the world, und take up your cross, and follow the 
Saviour. Do you say, 'I cannot do this?' I answer. 
Has not God commanded you to do it? And does 
he command us to do what we are unable to do, 
w^hat we cannot do if we will.^ Is there unrighteous- 
ness with God? 

Do not encourage, on slight grounds, the hope 
that you are a Christian. Remember, my dear S., 
you are now laying your foundation for eternity, 
Solemn thought! Soon every man's work must be 
tried, what sort it is. Do not rest satisfied so long 
as the all important question, 'Am I a Christian or 
not?' is undecided. Dread nothing so much, as 
putting your hand to the plough, and looking back; 
us beginning to run well, and being hindered by a 
tempting world, or a subtle enemy, or a treacherous 
heart. Determine, in the strength of the Lord, that 
vou will persevere unto the end, that you ii^ay be 



MRS. StJSAN HUNTINGTON. 273 

saved. The time is short. Heaven is worth labour- 
ing for. And, in due time, you shall reap if you 
faint not. 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAV/, AT N. L. 

Boston, March 14, 1821, 

I wish I could tell you of our spiritual prosperity. 
Some of our good people are much engaged in re- 
ligion; but the number of such is small. The fol- 
lowers of the Lord Jesus must be driven away 
from all their carnal resting-places, before we, as a 
church, shall look forth, fair as the moon, clear as 
the sun, and terrible as an army with banners. We 
are a little band, and we are in the enemy's coun- 
try. We must be more watchful and spiritual than 
ordinary Christians, or we shall be in great danger 
of being carried away by the dissimulation of the 
enemies of the cross. 

The Christian Church is a distinct community 
from the rest of the world, united by different bonds, 
governed by different principles, and controlled by 
different obligations, from all other communities: 
and the more closely it adheres to its distinctive 
principles, the more entirely it is, in the spirit and 
conduct of its members, separate from the world, the 
better for its true prosperity. We must be brought 
to declare plainly, by our lives and conversation, 
that we are supremely devoted to Christ, before we 
can expect a blessing. 

I have purchased a house in a healthly and re- 
spectable part of the town. I had the advice of 
judicious friends on the subject, who unanimously 
recommended the measure. I shall, if providence 
permit, remove as soon as the necessary repairs shall 
have been made. 

March 19. With a settled purpose and deter- 
mination and choice, I now give myself, and all that 



274 



MEMOIRS OI' 



I have, up wholly to my Saviour. Oh for my 
children! None of them have yet chosen the one 
thing needful. My anxiety for them increases. And 
sometimes I hope, and sometimes I lose courage. 
Perhaps I could not bear to see the spiritual pros- 
perity of my children. They may not stand up 
openly on the Lord's side, till I am removed out of 
the way of being proud of it. But, O my God! give 
me a token for good, lest my heart fail me. 

TO A FRIEND AT B. 

Boston, March 25 f 1321. 

You wish to know how I get along in my new 
situation. I am happy in being able to answer, very 
comfortably and pleasantly. My feelings have been 
much less tried than I expected, God is very good 
to me. His strong arm restrains and prevents the 
outbreakings of those corruptions, which would de- 
stroy all my peace of mind; though he shews me 
enough of them, to make me sensible that I ought to 
go in the dust all the days of my life. I think I 
never sighed after that cardinal grace, humility, so 
much as now. 

When your note first came, and I read in it the 
question, ''What are you doing?"; I intended to have 
answered, 'Striving to bring my evil heart to feel 
that the place God assigns me is best; that nothing 
is to be desired, comparatively, but grace to glorify 
him; that no creature should set up any interests in 
opposition to his; and that the happiness of every 
individual Christian is most effectually promoted, by 
his exertions for the general welfare of the whole 
body of Christ. I want to love the chosen of my 
blessed Lord and Master, a thousand times more than 
the promotion of my own private interest; to find 
my happiness in being made the humble instrument 
of edifying his body, the Church, in the way his 
infinite wisdom may prescribe, though it may be in 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 275 

a way hard to flesh and blood.' I said I intended 
to have given you the answer above, for I then 
thought it was what I was doing. But to-day, I 
have been so stupid, I could hardly say I desired any 
thing. The soul cannot thrive, it appears to me, 
without a great deal more time for secret prayer 
than I have had for some days past. Oh, this want 
of spirituality, this want of Aear^-religion, is a sad 
evidence of the low state of our graces, if we are 
Christians. 

As to what I am "anticipating;" with respect to 
this world, I can hardly tell what, excepting that I 
know that, in every place, sins and sorrows and 
conflicts abide me. Oh, to add. None of these 
things move me from my stable hold on the Rock 
of ages; neither count I my life dear unto myself^ 
so that I may finish my course with joy. 

April 22. I find the world is still a snare to me. 
I once thought its lustre all put out, its illusive fas- 
cinations broken. It was, comparatively, laid at my 
feet: and, I was happy, though the stroke which 
made me view it thus, penetrated my very soul. 
Alas! alas! my vain and wandering heart! why dost 
thou still attempt to fasten thy affections on this 
world, or any thing in it? I have tried it, and found 
it vanity. God taught me to be happy in himself; 
and I did feel that I desired nothing else. Oh that^ 
with tears of contrition, I might give myself, once 
more, wholly to my Saviour! 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. L. 

Boston, May 1, 1821- 

Our dear sister Mary* is in a critical situation. I 
consider her recovery very doubtful. But she is a 
dear member of the body of Christ, and all is well 

* The late Mrs. Mary Huntington; wife of the Rev. Daniel Hunt^ 
ibgton, of iVorUi Bridge watej. 



276 



MEMOIRS OF 



as it respects her. I never saw her appear so amia- 
ble and lovely. Affliction teaches us our weakness 
and dependance, and the delightful lesson of feel- 
ing another's woe. It cherishes and improves all 
those moral sensibilities which enable us to weep 
with them that weep, and rejoice with them that 
rejoice. 

I send you, under the care of the bearer, my dear 
daughter S., to spend the summer with you, agree- 
ably to your request and my promise. I wish you 
to manage her just as you would your own child. 
Oh, that this summer might be the long desired sea- 
son, in which the Holy Spirit shall effectually con- 
strain her to set her face toward Zion, and give 
herself up entirely to the God of her fathers! 

May 2. I find I have reason to be jealous even 
of innocent friendships, for they are prone to crowd 
my Saviour out of my heart. So foolish am I, and 
practically ignorant. When shall I be delivered 
from the allurements of a flattering and dangerous 
world? I long for that inflexible determination of 
spirit, that settled, immovable purpose of soul, in 
regard to religion, v^hich should enable me to oppose 
such a resistance to temptation, as to disarm it, at 
once, of its efficacy. '^I am doing a great work, I 
cannot come down." My Lord Jesus Christ, I look 
to thee. All my springs are in thee. Oh let me, of 
thy fulness, receive grace for grace! 

13. Communion day. My mind was sweetly 
solemn and serene, a part of the time this morning. 
I read the sixth chapter of Hebrews. It was very 
precious to me. I had some earnest desires after 
conformity to God, and preparation for his kingdom; 
and, at the communion, some brokenness of heart 
for sin, and some sweet sense of the presence and 
preciousness of my Saviour. There is nothing here 
to be loved, comparatively, but God. Death be- 
comes, increasingly, to me an object of desire. 



2VIRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 27 7 

TO HER ELDEST DAUGHTER, AT N. L. 

Boston, Maij \b, 1G2I, 

My dear S. I received a letter from your aunt 
unmediately after your arrival in N. L. But I be- 
gin to feel a strong desire to hear again how you 
are, and whether you are pleased with your new 
situation. It has been my prayer, that this removal 
from the noise and bustle of your own tow^n and 
family, might be sanctified to you; might lead you 
to reflect on that peaceful, happy world, into which 
there shall in no wise enter any thing that defileth; 
that world w^hither our dear, dear earthly counsellor 
and head has gone; that world which is constantly 
receiving all the wisest and best who have lived 
in this. Are you prepared for that worldf This is 
the question I long to have you put to yourself. 
And now is the best time. Whv should you delav 
it9 And if conscience tells you, that you are not 
prepared for it; oh, my dear S., do not rest, till you 
have some evidence tiiat you have begun to attain 
the preparation prescribed in the word of God. 
What will it profit you, if you gain the whole world, 
and lose your soul? 

Your dear aunt Mary is quite ill yet. Indeed 
she has been worse ever since you went to Connec- 
ticut, though she is novv' considerably relieved. Her 
<^ough is very bad." I am afraid she is going to leave 
your little cousins motherless. Oh, what a solemn 
thing it is for children to lose a good parent! My 
heart still aches when I think of your loss. And 
yet, your parents gave you to God; and father, mo- 
ther, and all other friends, are nothing without Him. 
If he is your Father, it is sufficient. He will carry 
you, under the shadow of his wings, through the 
wilderness of this world. He will lead you safe 
through the snares spread beneath your feet by the 
subtle enemy of your salvation. He will sustain 
24 



78 



MEMOIRS OF 



you under the sorrows of this life, which all find a 
life of trial. He will guide you by his counsel, and 
afterwards receive you to glory. 



May 18. I feel myself greatly deficient in that 
charity which sceketh not her own. I therefore re- 
solved, this day, to labour hereafter, by the grace of 
God, to seek chiefly, not my own happiness alone, 
but the happiness of others also; and this, not in 
relation to this world only, but also to the next. I 
resolved to ask myself, daily, V/hat can I do to-day 
for the good of those about me, or of those v/hom I 
shall meet? Help me. Lord, neither to expect nor 
desire a return of love on the part of others, — that 
idol which I have sighed after so much; but to 
labour to do all the good I can to others, even in 
opposition to indifference or neglect. 

25. I long to take my place at the feet of my 
Saviour, and never wander from him more. There 
I would sit, and weep^ and mourn over sin. The 
pardoning mercy of my God makes my backslidings 
look deeply crmiinal and odious. Oh, to render to 
my blessed Lord a perfect, an unwavermg obe- 
dience; to forsake him again no more forever. My 
tears flow at the remembrance of my hateful ingrat- 
itude. I feel that I am weak, and my corruptions 
are strong. A flattering world holds out its allure- 
ments; and my vain affections are enticed from Him 
vv^hom I desire to love with my whole heart. But, 
if sin must dwell in mc, blessed Saviourl let it not 
reign over me! I have been laying my case before 
my covenant God, — praying him to weaken my 
corruptions and sanctify me, whatever means he 
sees to be necessary for the accomplishment of that 
end. Even so, Lord! All these thine enemies, 
who will not that Thou shouldst reign within me, I 
bring to thee. Slay them utterly, I pray thee; and 
thine will be the praise forever. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 279 

30. I attended the prayer-meeting at Park-Street 
church this morning at five o'clock. I enjoyed it. 
It seemed delightful to meet with the dear people of 
God, though I felt as if I was not worthy to appear 
among them. I felt a sweet love to them all, and 
some longinsf desires to be diligent in doing the 
work I have given me to do here. Oh, to inquire 
every day, and be governed through the day by the 
answer. What can I do to-day for my Saviour, in 
my own soul, in my family, and in all over whom 
I have any influence. Oh, to be faithful as one that 
must give an account. 

June 7. Rode to-day with Mr. and Mrs. — — , 
and tw^o other friends. My mind v/as, a part of the 
time, sweetly calm and tranquil. I felt the spirit of 
a pilgrim; and that, though my dear husband was 
not there, he was in a better place. This world 
looked very beautiful, as God's vvorld, and my path 
to heaven. But I felt that it was not my home. 
No, no. Nearly all my early relatives have passed 
through the wilderness, and their feet are planted 
on the opposite shore. I must go forward. Help 
me to do so, thou Author and Finisher of my faith! 

10. I have been ready to long after death, as the 
only means of releasing me from a captivity which 
I feel to be my sorrow and my sin. I groan, being 
burdened. I have to-day received afresh the seal 
of my adoption, externally, into the family of 
Christ. I did renew my choice of him. My soul 
glories in the choice. I would not go back to the 
enjoyment of this world for all it can oiTer; no, not 
if I were sure of ultimate salvation. I feel as if I 
should sit in some sad corner, and weep after my 
Beloved. 

12. A few weeks since, I w^ent to see a young 
man, a former acquaintance of mine, in a decline. 
He has of late attended one of the Unitarian meet- 
ings in town. I conversed with him respecting his 
future prospects, with tenderness and affection. 



280 



MEMOIRS OF 



To my astonishment, that visit has been made the 
subject of a newspaper sarcasm, is much talked of, 
and much misrepresented. My natural feelings in- 
stinctively revolt from being the subject of public 
allusion; and, had I anticipated such a trial, it would 
have disturbed me greatly. As it is, however, I 
am astonished to find, that it does not move me. If 
I have had any idol, it has been my good name. 
But as I shoufd not dare, under the' hke circum- 
stances, to refuse a compliance with a similar re- 
quest, I feel willing to abide the consequences. 
Two things comfort me, and are causes of thank- 
fulness: — that, in looking back upon the interview, 
I do not remember one word v^ hich I said, that I 
now wish unsaid, or that I was influenced by any 
improper motive; my simple wish was to do good 
to a soul which, I saw, must soon pass into eternity; 
— and that now, I am not thrown inta any disqui- 
etness of spirit by angry feelings toward any of the 
persons who have been concerned in this matter. I 
feel a sw^eet spirit of love, and compassion, and for- 
giveness towards them, and a sincere desire that 
God would forgive them, if it is opposition to his 
truth which is thus exhibiting itself My mind has 
been very happy, since the facts I have mentioned 
came to my knowledge, I thank my God that 1 
do not feel angry, or impatient, or revengeful; but 
that I feel the opposite emotions. This keeps my 
mind very peaceful. 

And now, oh my blessed Father, hear me in two 
requests. Let me not be subjected to the strife of 
tongues, any farther than T shall be enabled, by thy 
grace, to turn it to a real advantage, in growing, 
by it, more watchful, and humble, and weaned from 
the world, so that my influence in thy cause may be 
rather promoted than hindered. And let it be the 
means, in some way, of advancing thy glory. Oh, 
iQt me not be, even the innocent cause of hindering 
that interest wdiich I love better than any thing 
beside. . 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 281 



TO HER ELDEST DAUGHTER, AT N. L. 

Boston, June \o, 1821. 

I hope you will strive to render yourself worthy 
of the affection and confidence of your friends. Your 
present advantages are greater than you have hitherto 
had; so that I am anxious to have you improve your 
time, and make the most of your present situation. 
But all the learning in the world will not make a 
person useful, unless he is determined to be so. I 
want to have you constantly keep in mind, that you 
were created to glorify God, and that the proper 
end of all knowledge is to do good. You are not 
too young to do good now. You can set an example 
of neatness and diligence to your school-mates. You 
can please and gratify your good friends, by your 
active and cheerfiil compliance with all their wishes. 
And you can let the little circle of your associates 
see, that you hate and despise vanity, and pride, and 
selfishness, and falsehood, in every form. My dear 
S., never forget that you were made for God; and 
that your glory and happiness is to be his servant, 
as the angels are, as the glorified saints are, as all 
holy beings in this world are so far as they are holy. 
Join yourself, my child, to this blessed company — 
the household of God, now^ while you are young; 
and you will be blessed indeed. 



TO MISS , OF BOSTON. 

Boston, June 2d, 1821. 

It quite pains me, in prospect of my intended re- 
nioval to my own house, that, on account of the 
distance, I shall not see you, my dear friend, as 
often as I have done. You have been the companion 
of my tribulations; and the thought of being so cir- 
cumstanced, in any way, as not to be frequently 
with you, saddens my "^heart. But then, beloved, 
I hope to live with you forever. And when my 
24^ 



;282 BIEMOIRS OF 

mind fixes its contemplations on that haven of rest 
which we hope to reach, after om' stormy passage 
over the troubled ocean of this life; — when I re- 
flect on the peaceful, blessed home, at which we 
hope to arrive, after passing all the dangers and all 
the sorrows of the intervening wilderness; I am re- 
freshed. Yes, my sister, my eyes fill with tears of 
hope and joy^ as I write, at the reflection that, 
through grace, I trust this felicity awaits us. "In 
my Father's house are many mansions. I go to 
prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare 
a place for you, I will come again, and receive you 
to myself; that where I am, there ye may be also." 
i\.nd faithful is He who has promised. 

For myself, I believe I am not sick of the world 
on account of its vexations and trials. Few have 
more friends to love dearly than unworthy L And 
yet I do believe,^ — putting the dread of death out of 
the question^ — there is nothing here, which I would 
not leave any moment, to go and be with Christ, 

which is far, far better. My dear Miss , I feel, 

a great deal of the time, that I have no cause for 
uneasiness but sin. You thought, and I tlvought, 
my present situation would be a trying one. But 
God has made it very easy and pleasant to me. I 
lono' for a grateful and humble heart. I am afraid 
of nothing but myself. Do, dear friend, pray that 
I may glorify God. Sometimes every other object 
looks light, and vain, and not worthy of an anxious 
thought. Oh, to be found just in the place God ap- 
points, and doing the work he appoints, and bear- 
in^'- the trials he appoints; and to find my happiness 
in'all this. It is sweet to be wholly at His disposal, 
to lose our own interests and will in his. This is 
what I long for; and it is refreshing to believe, that 
I shall one day attain it. 

July 13. Since I last wrote in my journal, I 
have passed through an eventful and interesting 
scene. I have left the parsonage-house, and am es- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 283 

tablished by myself, in a distant part of the town, 
remote from most of our beloved people, alas! no 
longer mine. I was supported under this trial be- 
yond all my expectations, though I have had some 
hours of bitter suffering. The moment of leaving 
that habitation, — the scene of so many enjoyments, 
where I had spent eleven of the happiest years of my 
life, where I had loved and lost my husband, where 
I had experienced deliverances, and spiritual com- 
forts, numerous and inexpressible, — was full of agony. 
It seemed like sundering myself from the last relic of 
departed joys. And the sense of loneliness I felt on 
first entering my own house, I cannot describe. All 
alone! Where, oh where the eye, the heart of sym- 
pathy; where the ear that will listen to the sorrows 
of my soul; where the being whose interests and 
hopes, whose joys and sorrows, are identified with 
mine.^ In all the wide world, my eye rests not on 
such a being. I shudder, and throv/ myself as a 
w^eary and helpless stranger, at the feet of the 
widow's God, the orphan's Friend. — I do not have 
those sensible comforts, nor those spiritual desires, 
which I long to feel. I have had some glimpses 
from above, which have cheered me; but they were 
transient. Faith seems weak. 

It is my desire to set up my altar to the Lord my 
God, and to consecrate to him all I have. I desire 
that Holiness unto the Lord should be inscribed 
on every thing in my house. — As to my situation, it 
is pleasant and comfortable, so far as it can be. And 
if I had more of the presence of my Saviour, I 
should covet nothing better or greater. I w ant com- 
fort, joy in my Lord, such as I have had. Help me, 
O my God, to labour after holiness; to wrestle and 
strive for it, and never give over till I have attained 
perfection in it. Then shall I have perfection in 
happiness. 

22. I have had more spiritual comfort of late, 
Jiave felt more of that peace which the world 



284 MEMOIRS OF 

knows not of, than for a long time. Though I de- 
sire to wait patiently all the days of my appointed 
time, till my change come, yet the prospect of one 
day loving, and serving, and glorifying my God per- 
fectly, is inexpressibly consoling. Oh, shall I see 
Him as he is? Shall I love him as I ought? Shall I 
glorify him to the full extent of my power? Then let 
me begin the work now. Let the holy flame of 
love kindle in my soul a godly zeal, to all duty, and 
against all sin. If I cannot be perfect here, let it be 
my constant desire and effort to press forward tow^ard 
perfection. I have had a pleasant day. I think I 
do esteem the Sabbath the best and sweetest of all 
days. 

TO MRS. L., OF N. H. 

Boston, Juhj 24, lQ2i. 

I have been waiting, wdth great impatience, to hear 
something further of the state of our dear E. How 
gladly v/ould I see her. How much it would con- 
tribute to my happiness, could I be permitted to lend 
my aid to the dear sufferer; to sit by her pillow, 
and whisper to her the consolations of the Gospel, — 
consolations which, blessed be God, I trust, in all 
their immeasurable length, and breadth, and depth, 
and height, belong to her. But this is denied me. 
The last information I received concerning her, w^as 
through Miss C. I understood that sh^ w as in a very 
happy state of mind. She certainly has been a suf- 
ferer, early inured to sorrow. I scarcely can refrain 
from tears, when I reflect how^ early and how con- 
stantly her path wt.s, and has continued to be, marked 
with affliction. But if these trials have been the 
means of inducing her to set her face tow^ards Zion, 
why should the remembrance of them pain me? God 
loves all his children w^itlv^n infinite and unchange- 
able love. Surely then, all the varieties of their 
existence and circumstances are the appointments of 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON". 285 

that love. All things, therefore, shall work together 
for their good. 

TO A FRIEND AT A. 

Boston, July 31, 1821. 

I have just finished the Lif^of Samuel J. Mills. 
He was a rich blessing to the world. His disinter- 
estedness and self-denial, his liberal plans and effi- 
cient exertions, quite put common Christians to the 
blush. The longer I live, however, the more I am 
convinced that we are made to do good in different 
ways. And every one's great wisdom lies in being 
able to determine correctly what he is made for, and 
to press toward the highest attainments in that precise 
way. But though all were not made for Missiona- 
ries, all are required to feel such a degree of interest 
in the salvation of men, as to be disposed to do what 
they can to promote it. 

TO A FRIEND IN A. 

Boston, August I, 1821, 

The day your good husband called on me was a 
very trying one. A day when it became necessary 
for me to displace and look over many things, left by 
the hand of him whom a righteous God has taken 
from me, and which I could have wished might 
never have been movt'd, while I live, from the places 
which he had given them. I do not know that the 
sense of sorrow occasioned by that dispensation, was 
ever greater than on Uiat day. And since, I have 
had moments, in removing, and when I first found 
myself alone in my n jw habitation, of almost insup- 
portable sorrovv^. 

Do not think, however, that I am habitually gloomy 
and unhappy. No, through the grace of God, I am 
enabled to say. Worlds would not tempt me to recal 
niy dearly beloved husband to the ^oils and troubles 



286 



MEMOIRS OF 



of mortality. He has gone- I feel the stroke whicii 
leaves my heart to bleed. But who am I to complain 
of the hand which has inflicted it. Could I feel more 
of His presence who, after all, is the only fountain 
of blessedness; could I experience that entire sat- 
isfaction in him alone, that exclusive love to him, 
which shuts out all inferior desires; which I humbly 
hope I have experienced in times past; what more 
could I want? 

My dear E., the principal reason why we have no 
more spiritual enjoyment is, that we do not wholly 
renounce all expectations of happiness from the 
world. Look at Brainerd, and Martyn, and others 
of a similar spirit; how much they experienced of 
religious enjoyment. We read their history, and 
regard them as phenomena in the moral world, and 
hardly think of trying to imitate them. But why 
may we not imitate them? Were they not of like 
passions with ourselves? Was not the world the 
same to them that it is to us? Oh, for that inextin- 
guishable thirst after conformity to God as our chief 
good, which will lead us to be satisfied with nothing 
short of it; which will enable us to oppose a resolute 
and effectual resistance to the temptations of a flat- 
tering and deceiving world! 

August 5. I heard an interesting sermon to-day, 
in which the preacher spoke much of the believer's 
future glory; the crowns, and diadems, and splen- 
dours, and honours, of heaven. I felt as if heaven 
was not so much an object of" desire to me on these 
accounts; and that honours and crowns vvould ill be- 
come so vile a rebel as I am. But the prospect of 
perfect holiness and conformity to God! — this, oh this is 
heaven. It seems to me but little matter what place 
I have, if God choose it, though it be but that of a 
door-keeper in his house. That will be the happiest 
place for me which is assigned me by my blessed 
Lord. If I may behold his glory, and do his w^ll. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 287 

and grow in his likeness, I would be anxious respect- 
ing nothing else. 

This has been a good day to me. I think I had 
some communion with my risen and glorified Sa- 
viour at his table. His example looks most lovely. 
I thought to-day, that I had never mourned for the 
sins of God's dear people, because they dishonour the 
precious name of Chri^t^ as I ought. Oh, to long, 
and labour, and pray, for my own sanctification, and 
that of others, that my Saviour may be glorified! 

TO A FRIEND AT A. 

Bridgeicater, August 20, 1G21. 

You have often, my dear Mrs. , been present 

to my thoughts of late, especially at the time of my 
removal from my late beloved habitation; and I was 
strengthened and comforted by the remembrance of 
the comfort wherewith you were comforted of God, 
under similar circumstances. I cannot say that I 
experienced those clear and supporting manifesta- 
tions of my Saviour's presence, under that trial, which 
you did, and which I humbly trust I have done be- 
fore. My mind seemed so crowded with cares con- 
cerning the present, and overwhelmed v>ith recol- 
lections of the past, that it was hardly capable of any 
connected and rational reflections. Yet when I felt 
myself in a degree settled, I think my heart was 
enabled, in some humble measure, to return unto its 
rest. I think I felt that, instead of murmuring at 
the removal of comforts once enjoyed, I could bless 
God for those which he had continued. 

"He that dwelleth in the secret places of the Most 
High, shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." 
There is more happiness described in this single 
passage of Scripture, than I can form an idea of by 
accumulating all the combinations of felicity, drawn 
from mere earthly sources, which can be expressed 
or imagined. And yet, strange as it is, I am con- 



288 MEMoms OF 

tinually prone to cheat my soul out of the blessednesf^ 
which it might derive from the fountain of life and 
comfort, by wandering away to the broken cisterns 
which my reason and conscience are convinced can 
never satisfy. Depravity this, which may well be 
considered desperate; that, with the most certain and 
unquestionable evidence, derived from experience, 
of the unmingled felicity which attends a life of 
communion with God, — felicity, which, though fully 
satisfying, can never satiate the soul, we are still so 
ready to embrace every vanity, calculated to lead us 
from God, which an alluring world, and a subtle ad- 
versary, can hold out to us! 

My experience the first year after my beloved 
husband's death was comfort. My sins seemed laid 
asleep; and I thought the stroke, which had sundered 
me from the chief source of my temporal enjoyment, 
had also stamped upon the world an impression of 
uncertainty, and vanity, and tastelesness, which 
could never be effaced. But alas! I now feel that 
my present duty, as well as experience, is conflict, 
I find it to be unspeakably difficult to keep my affec- 
tions with that steadiness of determination, that en- 
gagedness and fervour of spirit, and that fixedness of 
eye, upon the things which are not seen and eternal, 
which become me, which God requires, and which 
will make me happy indeed. 

TO MRS. W., OF BOSTON. 

Bridgeioater , August 22, 1821. 

My time since 1 have been here, has passed quite 
as pleasantly as I expected. I usually feel best at 
home, however. And just now, the ap.proach of that 
solemn anniversary^ which must ever bring with it 
recollections most affecting and interesting, under 
circumstances so like those in which I was placed 

- Of the death of her huslSjand. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 289 

two years ago, cannot fail to cast over my mind a 
shade of sadness which I find it difficult to remove. 
I have passed some moments of ine^vpressible sorrow 
since I left you, though their continuance was short; 
sorrow like that when my soul was fainting under 
the anticipation of a stroke, w hich I could never* 
steadily contemplate till its actual infliction; a stroke 
the effects of which must be felt while I live. But 
the Lord inflicted it. This quiets me. And shall 
not the Judge of all the earth do right? Yes. He 
gave, and I bless him for it. He took away, and I 
still bless him. He hath done all things well. He 
is good giving, good withholding, good taking away; 
and I v/ould trust him forever. 

But when I refl.ect upon my dreadful misimprove- 
ment of a dispensation, so eminently calculated to 
rouse me up to spirituality and entire consecration 
of soul to Godj to a sincere renunciation of a world 
which had been proved so unfaithful, and to an active 
and diligent performance of duty, I wonder at myself. 
What can I expect but repeated son•ow^ till I shall 
learn, w hat I find it so hard, so unspeakably hard to 
learn, to live to God alone-] But I do hope this 
is my desire. I do hope I am willing to sulTer, if I 
may be purified and made fit for the Master's use. 

Let us, my sister, dread nothing, but a separation 
from Him w^hom I trust our souls love. Let us fear 
nothing, but that He should "let us alone." Let us 
determine to rest in nothing but Hun, Sometimes 
I feel that the day is far spent, and the night at hand; 
and that what I have to do, I must do quickly. But at 
o^her times, I find myself forming plans, and indulg- 
ing in dreams, of earthly happiness. Delusive hope! 

I think, my dear friend, that oar declensions 
always begin in the closet. Those moments of holy 
communion with God, which we sometimes enjoy, 
have a sanctifying iniluence on all the concerns and 
duties in which we are engaged. But if the seasons 
which we set apart for secret prayer, are trifled away 
25 



MEMOIRS OF . 

with frivolous and vain thoughts and desires; or if 
they are seasons of weariness, when the mind spends 
all its strength, perhaps, in labouring to feel; they 
will do us little good. Not that they should be 
omitted. Oh, no. But God forbid, that we should 
be satisfied in such a state. God forbid, that we 
should ever live contentedly at such a distance from 
him, as will make our prayers "a burden and a task." 
How is your good husband? I trust the Lord has 
much for him to do in Boston. Trials he will have. 
They will do him good. They v/ill give him more 
singleness of heart toward God; and this is worth 
suffering for. Oh that he may enter into the labours 
of his beloved predecessor; water what he planted, 
and gather what he sowed; and when the Chief 
Shepherd shall appear, may they appear with him, 
and rejoice together over their mutual work! 

TO ANOTHER FRIEND IN BOSTON, 

Bridgewater , August 22^ 1821. 

I was unable to see you during your illness. I 
called at Mrs. - — — 's while you were confined to 
your room, with the intention of extending my visit 
to your house; but learning from her how sick you 
were, and presuming that I could render you no 
service, I gave up the idea. But, though I have not 
seen you, I did not forget, or cease to love you. And 
it was with unfeigned satisfaction that I heard, from 

Mr. , of the serenity of your mind in your, then, 

dangerous circumstances. Your hope of final salva- 
tion has, I trust, acquired a consistency and stability, 
from this recent trial of your faith, which compen- 
sates you for all that you suffered. 

The Christian, in this world, is an unapt scholar. 
God has undertaken to prepare him for heaven. He 
has determined that this shall be done. But there 
is almost every thing in the way, to hinder and oppose 
the accomplishment of this benevolent purpose of 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 291 

the blessed God. Within, a nature wholly and in- 
veterately inclined to evil, and without, every thing 
calculated to operate powerfully and successfully on 
the depravity of his nature. Alas! how could he 
get forward, did not the promise of God secure to 
him his' sanctification as well as his justification.'^ 
This, blessed be God! it does. "The Lord thy God 
will circumcise thine heart, to love the Lord thy God 
with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, that 
thou mayest live." But this promise must be fulfill- 
ed by the instrumentality of means. And O, how 
kindly, how mercifully, how patiently, does our 
almighty Redeemer chasten, and reprove, and refine, 
and purify, his children. Sometimes, he pours upon 
them the temporal blessings of his providence. But 
if this turns away their affections from himself, he 
visits their transgression with the rod, and their 
iniquity with stripes; nevertheless, his loving-kind- 
ness he does not utterly take from them, nor suffer 
his faithfulness to fail. Every stripe is intended to 
embitter to them that sin which He hates, that sin 
w^hich cleaves to his children while they live, and 
that sin which he is determined to destroy. And 
shall we not trust our whole souls with this blessed 
Being? Shall we not be willing that He should 
manage our concerns in his own way, if he will but 
make us like himself, and prepare us for himself? 
Oh, yes, yes. 

Two things we ought especially to be anxious to 
learn under our trials; an humble, penitent, broken- 
hearted conviction of our sinfulness and unworthi- 
ness; and a filial, practical, quickening sense of the 
unspeakable goodness and love of God, and of our 
obligations to be entirely and eternally his. Surely 
motives are not wanting, to rouse us up to unremit- 
ted diligence in the service of Him who has called 
us to his kingdom and glory. 

Septemler 1. The hand of the Lord has again 
touched me. On the twenty-fifth of last month, I 



292 



ME MO Ills OF 



was called home to receive the last parting sigh of 
my dearly beloved Joshua. Thus the fond and cher- 
ished babe left me^ at a mementos warning. It fell 
upon me like a thunderbolt. — But my mind is com- 
forted ROW. My child, ray lamb, is in heaven. He 
has gone to the Saviour, v^^ho said, ''Father, I will 
that those whom thou hast given me, be with me, 
where I am." Amen. Lord, help those that remain 
to follow! 

Evening. I go about from one room to another, 
but the places and things which once knew him, 
know him no more. I find not the object I seem to 
be seeking. My tears flow; my heart is full; I feel, 
almost as if there were no sorrow like my sorrow. 
My mind does not leave every thing here, and fasten 
itself on heaven, as it did when my dear husband 
died, I am not comfortless; but I have not the 
''strong consolation" which I then had. It seems 
as if Joseph were not, and Benjamin w^ere not. 
But oh. let me not undervalue my remaining mer- 
cies — -my pleasant children, my thousand, my un- 
numbered blessings! 

S. I live, though death has smitten another of 
my number. Elizabeth was taken from all her sor- 
rows and her sufferings, eleven days after my sweet 
babe. I have no doubt that both these little ones 
are in heaven. They were given to God; and they 
are not, because He has taken them. As it respects 
Elizabeth, I can see that the dispensation, which 
released her from a body of disease and death, which 
confined and cramped all the efforts of the soul, and 
set the spirit free, to unfold and expand in the ser- 
vice of God, is a wise and merciful dispensation. 

TO HER ELDEST DAUGHTER IN BOSTON. 

Andover, September 'iO J 1821. 

My beloved child. I rejoice in your return."^ 1 
thank God, v/ho has once more brought us so near 

* From a visit; of sojae months ; at New London; Conn. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 293 

each other, and given us the prospect of again meet- 
ing on this side the grave. Boston must look sad 
and solemn to you, my dear. All gone; not even 
the house of your father to go to. But there is a 
house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. 
There is your heavenly Father, and he is inviting 
your returning footsteps thither. There is your 
Saviour, who has gone to prepare a place for ijou^ 
if you will accept one. Come then, my dear child: 
you have early seen the treachery of earthiy pros- 
pects; — you have seen a father cut dow^n in the high 
noon of his usefulness; you have seen the sweet, 
the promising little scion which sprung up from the 
parent root, instantly withered in all its beauty; 
you have seen that all on earth is change. Come 
then, my child^ and secure a better, even an endur- 
ing inheritance. There is a friend who will never 
forsake you, a happy home which can never be taken 
from you. There, the inhabitants shall no more say, 
*I am sick.' There, there will be no more sorrow, 
nor sighing, nor parting from friends; but from the 
eyes of all that blessed family, God will wipe away 
all tears for ever. There you shall meet the father 
who loved, and cherished, and prayed for you; and 
there the brother and sister whose former places on 
earth will know them no more. Unless you become 
a Christian, you bade them a long, a last farewell. 
My eyes fill with tears, my heart aches, at the 
thought that it is possible. Oh my children, my 
beloved children, let me not be disappointed in this 
one hope — that, having been separated on earth, 
we may dwell together forever in heaven! 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N, L. 

Boston, November 6; 1821. 

You wish to be informed more particularly of the 
©ircumstances of my sweet Joshua's death. When 
I left him on Saturday, he appeared as well as usual. 
25^ 



.'294 MEMOIRS Ot 

The heat of the weather had made him rather thiii 
and pale; but he was not otherwise miwell. He 
continued well till Wednesday morning, when he was 
seized with a diarrhea. This continued, sometimes 
apparently abating, till Friday morning; when it be- 
came apparent that his disease was the dysentery. 
The Doctor came to see him; and advised his re- 
moval to Mr. W.'s, where he could have all my 
friends near him. I think he must have fallen away 
greatly on Friday night, as the doctor did not speak 
of him as in a dangerous state, at the time of the 
visit just alluded to. On Saturday morning, the 
little sufferer was accordingly removed, forever re- 
moved. After he arrived at Mr. W.'s, he was, by 
the direction of the physician, put in a warm bath. 
But no one seemed to be aware of his real situation. 
Early on Saturday morning, I was sent for, and ar- 
rived at about half past one o'clock in the afternoon. 
Light of heart, I sprang out of the carriage to in- 
quire for my child; for I had been told that he was 
not very sick, and his being at Mr. W.'s confirmed 
1X13 in the opinion Mrs. W. told me that he was 
n )W very sick. Still, however, my infatuation pre- 
V iled. I thought he could not be very sick, and 
be there. Judge then of my agony, when I entered 
the chamber, and saw my child, the darling of my 
soul, not as I left him, but engaged in his last con- 
flict. I instantly recognized the hand of death, for 
I had seen it too often to be mistaken. Never shall 
I forget that look. Changed he was, but beautiful. 
There was a composed look, of meek and patient 
sufiering; he looked, as if he had quieted himself to 
die. His little eyes were already fixed. He did 
not know me. Oh, what a moment! — About an 
hour and a half after this, the last struggle com- 
menced. I took him in my arms; and, in a few min- 
utes, he breathed his last sigh, as sweetly as ever a 
spirit disencumbered itself of its earthly habitation; 
and, before I knew it, he was in heaven. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 295 

The greatest shock was the first. But my mind 
Was unsettled all that, and the next day. I hardly 
knew where, or what I was. So little sensible had 
I been, how this darling babe had entwined himself 
about every fibre of my heart. On Monday, how- 
ever, I was relieved and comforted. But that was 
one of the most solemn weeks of my life. The 
strong and intense excitements of it were almost too 
much for my feeble frame. So that when Elizabeth 
was taken sick, which was on the next Sabbath, I 
simk at once. She was soon released from all her 
sorrows. And I live to tell the tale. — Who knows 
how much he is capable of enduring? I have since 
spent a few weeks at Andover, and am now quite 
well. 

Sister Mary's health is exceedingly delicate. Her 
situation is, in my opinion, very critical. With un- 
wearied care, she may live some years; or she may 
soon be taken from us. 

Our family, my beloved sister, seems to be dis- 
solving. God smote the head when he called your 
and my dear father, (fori loved him as a father): and 
the shock seemed to extend itself to the branches, 
one after another of which has, since that time, 
withered and fallen. But how sweet to be permit- 
ted to believe, that, of all the dear number removed, 
not one is lost? All safe, safe forever. God grant 
that we may meet them there, where there is no 
more death. 

TO MRS. H. OF BRIDGEWATER. 

Boston, November 2^, 1821. 

God has seen fit to afflict you, my dear M., often 
and severely. But you have already had abundant 
experience of the benefit of affliction. And, though 
I do hope that this sicknsss will not be unto death 
— at least not for many years to come, I also hope 
that you are resigning yourself sweetly into the 



29G 



MEMOiRS eF 



hands of your faithful, covenant God, and experi- 
encing the preciousnessof the promise, "I will never 
leave nor forsake thee." It is a solemn thing to 
look steadily at death. He is an enemy whom we 
all are prone to place, in our conception, at a dis- 
tance, before we are willing to contemplate him. 
And with some of us, the fear of death is so strong a 
constitutional infirmity, that we are sometimes ap- 
prehensive that we shall dishonour our Saviour in our 
last trial. But even death is a conquered foe. When 
the Son of God finished the work of redemption, he 
conquered all the enemies of our souls, (if we are 
his), and laid up for us, in himself, sure and ade- 
quate supplies for all our necessities. The cross of 
Christ is the certain pledge of the Christian's final 
victory. Our Lord is Lord and King of death and 
the grave. Faint they may; despond they may; 
yet, in the mount of difficulty, shall the Lord be 
seen, and command deliverance for his people. 
They shall not utterly fall; and even their misgiv- 
ings, and their fears, shall abound to the glory of His 
grace, who giveth power to the faint, and to them 
that have no might, increaseth strength. 

Trust yourself then, my sister, with the kind 
Father, who hath borne you thus far through the 
wilderness on his faithful arm. Trust yourself with 
the dear Redeemer, who loved you unto death, and 
who has gone to heaven to prepare a place for you. 
Trust yourself with that good Spirit, who has been 
carrying on your sanctification, in order to your 
preparation for heaven, these many years, though 
you have grieved him so often. Trust yourself with 
Jehovah — Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, who keep- 
eth covenant forever and ever. Keep hold of the 
cross of Christ. None ever perished there. Thence 
draw all your hope of pardon and of victory. Though 
your sins may look very great, and your meetness 
for heaven very uncertain, yet never forsake the 
cross. The blood of Christ cleanseth from all sm; 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 297 

and He that hath begun a good work in you, will' 
perform it unto the day of Jesus Christ. 

Decemier 9. The situation in which I am placed, 
I sometimes think, is unfavourable to my spiritual 
interests. Perceiving one's self an object of interest 
and regard every where, and receiving constant at- 
tentions and flatteries, have a powerful tendency to 
strengthen the natural vanity of the human heart. 
But it is the weakness and perverseness of my heart, 
of which I have most reason to complain. I am 
not strong to resist. I love the tenderness and 
kindnesses of earthly attachments too much. My 
natural disposition, in this respect, is a snare to me. 
The world cannot solicit me by any of its grosser 
allurements. But the temptations it holds out to 
me, under the forms of pure, refined, and elevated 
enjoyment resulting from social connexions, are 
ensnaring. And the fact that it is so, at times, 
darkens all my evidences. Blessed Saviour, enable 
me, practically and constantly, to feel that thou art 
the only satisfying portion. 

11. I have had much sweetness in prayer this 
evening. I think I did feel that I renounced all 
hopes, all desires, which could possibly make me 
less devotedly and entirely the Lord's. I would 
be wholly his. I am his servant. Let all my future 
arrangements be made with a reference to his glory. 
This is what I want. Oh, to be swallowed up in the 
desire to glorify God in his own way! Strengthen 
me. Lord, to maintain a constant singleness of 
heart towards thee. The promise in Ezekiel, xxxvi, 
25, 26, 27, was very precious to me this evening; 
especially these words, ''From all your filthiness, 
and from all your idols, will I cleanse you." Oh 
my blessed God, do so for unworthy me! Tear 
away every idol which I, through the weakness of 
the flesh, have served' Tear it away, th-^ugii every 
fibre of my soul is rent by the separation! 



298 



MEMOIRS OF 



15. I have been much comforted of late, m read» 
ing a volume of Watts' Sermons, on '^The world to 
come." It is, on the whole, an excellent book. His 
remarks on the necessity of "an acquaintance with 
Christ," and the evidences it affords of piety, pre- 
sented me with a somewhat new aspect of evidence 
in my own soul in relation to the subject. I could 
not but hope, that I was more acquainted with the 
Lord Jesus Christ, than with any other being in the 
universe; that I had more intimate communion, 
more delightful intercourse, with him: that I was con- 
nected with him by stronger interests, more entire 
dependencies, more awful obligations, more fervent 
love, and more habitual choice. Is it not so, oh 
my Saviour, who knowest my struggles, who art 
acquainted with every inward conflict, every desire 
of my soul? Who gives me strength to fight, who 
supports me in my trials, who holds up the feeble 
purpose of my heart toward God, who speaks light 
and life to my soul, who is the friend, all-knowing, 
all-supporting, of my spirit, but Thee? Can it be 
delusion? Blessed Jesus, do I not love thee^ Wert 
thou mine^ — ^the God of my life, and all created 
nature beside blotted out forever; should I not still 
possess that vvhich is all to me? 

16. I am reading, with great delight, the "Me- 
moirs of Halyburton;" which I think one of the 
best religious biographies I have seen. Some of his 
experiences, seem very similar to what I have learn- 
ed of myself; especially his conflicts with sin, par- 
ticularly in "things innocent or lawful carried to 
excess." Some of them are the result of what I have 
thought amiable and praise-worthy^ — the strength of 
my social affections. But all this only shews me 
what a fountain of desperate wickedness the human 
heart is, which can turn every thing into an occasion 
of sin. Let me remember then, that my sin is not 
in having these affections, for the blessed God gave 
them to me, our first parents had them in innocence; 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 299 

but in the unruly and uncontrollable indulgence of 
them^ — an indulgence which may easily be known, 
by its rendering me, while it continues, satisfied 
with earthly attachments and hopes, lessening my 
spirituality, leading me to desire something which 
God sees to be not be^t for me, and, above all, draw- 
ing my heart from God as my chief good. 

But after all my wretched wanderings, I humbly 
believe, I can appeal to my blessed Master, that he 
knows it to be my habitaal choice, to part cheerfully 
with every thhig which he sees is inconsistent with 
his glory.' Friends, health, life, property — all, are 
his. And I would be his, for life, for death, forever. 
Oh, it is svveet to be wholly his; to abide near him; 
to behold his glory; to be transformed into his im- 
age! What, oh what, can the world offer^ And yet, 
how weak do I find myself to resist its temptations? 
I take my place, blessed Saviour, at the foot of thy 
cross; that cross which crucifies to the world, to sin. 
In thee, I know there is strength to conquer. 

TO MRS. T. OF D. 

Bosto7i, December 23, 1821. 

What a desert is this world without God! You 
and I, my dear H., have been bereft of our dearest 
temporal enjoyments. It was the Lord who did it. 
And what shall we think of it? Did he inflict the 
stroke, to leave us just like the rest of the world? 
God forbid. Rather let us choose to abide in the 
furnace till life shall end, than be left to take up 
our portion here. We have found God our rock, 
our refuge, our strong deliverer, our unfailing friend; 
and that, when all the men on earth, and all the 
angels in heaven, could not help us, He held us up; 
He smoothed for us the pillow of agony; He poured 
oil and wine into our wounds. He hushed us to 
peace on his own bosom, when the storm was beating 
heavily upon us, when refuge failed, and we said^ of 
every earthly thing. Miserable comforters are ye all. 



300 MEMOmS OF 



And shall v/e, can we, now forsake Him? What! 
leave our God, after all this: No. no. Let us clasp 
our Saiaour's cross to our bosoms, and die, rather 
than be separated from it. 

My heart aches, and my eyes fill with tears, at 
the thought of my sinful propensity to seek in some 
earthly good, the happiness 1 know ct.n be found in 
God alone. This is mj sad case. But then it is my 
daily grief and trQubie that it is so. And I do hum- 
bly belieye that, with my settled purpose, I choose 
God, above, and so far as he sees best for me and 
most for his glory, against every thing beside. 

And my dear H,, the day is coming, when, if we 
do love our Saviour, this feeble, fluttering fiame shall 
give place to the glov/ing, inextinguishable, holy 
ardour of perfect love; when we shall no more have 
to mourn the unstable affection, the vascillating pur- 
pose, the heart easily ensnared by the vexing, imper- 
tinent vanities of this poor world. And what can earth 
offer in opposition to such a prospect as this? Should 
she bring all her stores, and lay them at our feet} one 
glance of God, and they would vanish to nothing. 
Is it so? What then has God taken from us? A good, 
a great good indeed, a good which we may have 
thought dmost necessary to our spiritual progress; 
but a good_, the loss of which God can make up, 
which he can infinitely overbalance, in the commu- 
nications he may make to us of himself. This we 
know. Lei n^i then desire nothing, v» hich he sees it 
to be most for his glory to withhold, or remove. 
Let us keep an eye steadily fixed on the upper world. 
Let us draw daily, from the fulness in Christ, pledged 
grace-— j^^race to pardon, grace to ganctify. Let us 
go strai,^ht forv/ard, wherever our Master leads. Let 
us expect no rest, till we lay down our sins and our 
conflicts together in the grave. 

December 22. This year is nearly closed, and it 
has been an eventful year to me. In the course of 



l^RS, SUSAN HUNTINGTOX. 301 

it, one of the tenderest ties by \yhich I was connect- 
ed with earth, has been sundered. My Joshua was 
smitten. And my heart bleeds still. It was a heavy 
trial. But God showed me, that I merited and need- 
ed it, and kept me from rebelling, (blessed be his 
name!) so that I gave up what he so suddenly de- 
manded, without disputing his right so to do. The 
shock was not so great, however, as that occasioned 
by the death of my husband. Then, my faculties 
seemed stunned. I look back, and perfectly remem- 
ber my feelings, and am sure that, for six or eight 
months after that event, my mental powers seemed 
all shaken by the blow. It was a different sort of 
life from any I had ever experienced. Afflicted as 
much as my nature could bear, on the one hand, and 
comforted and stayed up by the Omnipotent arm, on 
the other, — my intense exeicises overpowered my 
poor frame, and I was like those who dream. But 
my sweet Joshua's death affects me with an inex- 
pressible tenderness. Oh that its effects may be 
lasting! Beloved of my soul! dear, cherished, lament- 
ed child! May thy removal rouse up thy afflicted 
mother to more persevering and unwaving dili- 
gence in finishing her v^^ork! 

January 17, 1822. I spent the evening at Mr. 

's. Dear, affectionate, kind-hearted people! 

Never was unworthy woman connected with a soci- 
ety, whose kind offices laid her under more pressing 
obligations, than myself. But, alas, how little good 
I do among them! I am ashamed and confounded, 
at the view of my barrenness and unprofitableness. 
Do I love this dear people, while I am so neglectful 
of their best interestsr Oh that the Lord would 
cause me so to feel for their souls, as to lead me, 
constantly and importunately, to the throne of 
grace in their behalf! 

21. Upon comparing myself with what I was last 
year, I cannot but fear that I am losing ground. It 
seems, on the whole, as if my '^leart is" more ''di- 
26 



302 ME^roIRS OF 

vided," and I am found, like Israel of old, '-faulty.^' 
In prayer, I usually have some nearness of access to 
God, often have some svieet sense of my obligations 
to devote all to him, in my poor measure, as the 
holy angels do, some desires after this, and some 
meltings of soul for sin. But, alas!, how soon all is 
gone! My temptations are many; and my strength 
is perfect weakness. Oh, world! world! world! I 
am helpless, and feeble, and tossed on thy dangerous 
seas; and, of myself, ready, every moment, to make 
shipwreck of the faith. Jesus, save me, or I perish! 
I have been reading our blessed Lord's valedicto- 
ry address to his disciples, and the text, "Every 
branch in me that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that 
it may bring forth more fruit," struck me forcibly. 
I felt, however, that I could lay over my case into 
the hands of the great Pvefiner with sweet satisfac- 
tion. Oh for strength to resist sin, that I may not 
be so often ensnared. 

TO A FRIEND AT ^1, 

Boston, Januanj 22^ 1822. 

My dear Miss . That propensity, to which 

you allude in your last letter, to dwell on the past 
and look forward to the future, may be the occasion 
of much happiness to us. If properly controlled and 
balanced by Christian principle, the retrospect of 
former years and former mercies, will awaken in our 
souls lively gratitude to Him, who has led us thus far 
through the land of our pilgrimage, and cheered the 
tediousness of the way by the kind communications 
of his own grace and goodness, and will present us 
with the strongest motives to a course of undeviating 
future obedience, V/ere our hearts right, the past 
v/ould be contemplated with all the fervent emotions 
of gratitude, and the future with unmingled desires 
of glorifying Him, constantly and forever, who has 
made us to feel the weight of such immense obliga- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 303 

lions. But, alas! too seldom is this the case. The 
mind, ever searching for aliment suited to the suste- 
nance of its depravity, is apt, in looking backward, 
to seize on those parts of our experience which have 
least of God and holiness in them. 

We dream over the scenes which were pleasant to 
us, perhaps, because our seltlove was flattered, or 
our pride gratified, our interests promoted, or our 
happiness sought; and we find them, at this distance 
of time, still pleasant, because they avv^aken kindred 
feelings w^ith those we then experienced. Or, if 
pride and vanity are not distinctly exercised, we 
sometimes sit down, and brood over the past with a 
sort of sickly sensibility, w^hich exhausts our mental 
strength in useless regrets for the friends or comforts 
w^hich are no more, and induces a passive indiffer- 
ence concerning the present, utterly incompatible 
with efficient exertion. When we feel that this is 
the case with us, however engaging such remem- 
brances may be to our disordered hearts, we should 
shake off, at once, the indulgence of them. 

I w^ell remember the time when I dared not look 
at the past. It was to look at a storm, which had 
gone by, and which, though it passed over without 
destroying me, was too fearful to be unnecessarily 
dwelt upon. I knew that, though the strength of the 
Almighty arm had upheld me, when under the im- 
mediate infliction of that awful stroke, my heavenly 
Father had no where promised me strength to sustain 
me under the self-inflicted agonies of an unruly 
memory. And at that time, when I dared not con- 
template the past, and could not calculate on the 
future, I felt more, than at any other period of my 
life, that, to-day was all I could call my own. 
Present duties and present trials; the one called upon 
me to rouse myself, this moment, from the listlessness 
produced by intense personal sufferings to do some- 
thing, if I had nothing to enjoy; and the other met 
jne as what I did bear then, through God's goodness, 



'^^^ MEMOIRS OF 

and I could trust him for strength to bear at a future 
time, if that future time should find me a sufferer on 
the earth. It is at a moment like this, that we know 
the blessed efficacy of our holy religion. There is 
in the Gospel that, which the Christian, at such a 
moment, feels sustaining him, He knows he does 
not follow a cunningly devised fable. And had he 
a thousand souls, he would not be afraid to risk them 
on the truth of that Gospel. 

You say, "Write me a letter of reproof and in- 
struction." Alas! my dear friend, and do you really 
consider me capable of all this? I feel like a mere 
learner of first principles yet, and wholly unfit to 
reprove and instruct, by reason of my unfaithfulness 
in the practical application of even those first prin- 
ciples. But, much as I must be sensible of my 
ov/n deficiencies, I believe I can say, in the sweet 
language of an Apostle, ^-This I wish, even your 
perfection;" and were I acquainted with your faults 
as intimately as you are, or had I ever observed any 
thing, which struck me as a peculiar defect, I love 
you well enough to risk something in directing 
your attention to it. It is very difficult for us to 
judge of each other^s constitutional weaknesses — 
unless they lie out on the surface of the character, 
and consequent attending temptations. 

Whether there be some one besetting sin which at- 
tends the Christian, and exhibits the same, or nearly 
the same, specific form, through the various stages 
and circumstances of his progress heaven-ward, I 
know not. It has appeared to me, however, that 
our most distressing conflicts, are not always with 
the same sins, but with different ones, which ac- 
quire strength and povver by the change of our cir- 
cumstances. As self-elation may be our snare at 
one time, so a gloomy depreciation of our own 
powers may be at another; and, as sometimes we are 
in danger of looking no higher than earth for com- 
ibrt, so, at other times, we may fretfully refuse the 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 305 

enjoyment of even those mercies which a kind God 
intends we should enjoy, and almost be in his case 
who chose strangling and death rather than life"^. 
An obscure Christian could have but little idea of 
the temptations another would meet with, thrown 
into an intelligent circle, capable of estimating all 
that was commanding and all that was attractive in 
her character, and whose qualifications would ensure 
her the respect and constant attentions of that circle. 
And though none could envy the humble and more 
retired Christian her station, except as it furnished 
a comparative exemption from a long train of the 
most fascinating temptations, yet it certainly would 
not involve such high responsibilities, and draw in 
its train such a fearful number of mischievous con- 
sequences, in case of declension from duty, as a 
higher one. But, I believe it is our duty to rest 
satisfied, that God has placed us in the situation best 
for us; and, instead of comparing its advantages, and 
disadvantageSjVvith those of others, we should endea- 
vour carefully to inquire, What are the temptations 
to which I am now most exposed? What facilities does 
my situation afford me for doing good? How can 
I turn my present circumstances to the best account? 
In all our various situations in life, be they what 
they may, self is the grand hindrance, to our going 
on unto perfection. The world flatters, and we love 
its flatteries so well, that we feed upon them, as 
Ephraim "on v/ind," till God rouses us from our 
deplorable delusion, and compels us to pronounce 
them worthless. Not that piety is one form of 
self-love; and that we embrace religion merely from 
a regard to our own interest. Self-love, in us, is a 
perverted principle; it is selfishness. It seeks its 
own good too eagerly, and in a wrong way. So far 
as it pursues its own happiness, in that way, and to 
that extent, which are agreeable to the will of God, 
it is innocent and lawful. But the proper end of 

^ Job vii; 15. 

26* 



106 



MEMOIRS Ot 



an intelligent creature's existence is, to promote lii,^ 
own happiness, in loving and serving God. This 
our natural selfishness does not. And it was to this 
principle I referred, when I said, that it is our 
hindrance in every thing praise-worthy. But let a 
soul be endued with the benevolent spirit of the 
Gospel, let it feel something of that holy flame 
which animates the saints above, let it be filled and 
controlled by desires to serve God as they do — ^to 
do his will, and promote his glory unceasingly, 
which is the true end of our being; and all the fasci- 
nations of the world would be poured upon it in vain. 
Nothing could promote the happiness of such a soul, 
but what advanced the glory of the blessed God. 
And it would find ways to effect its object. It 
would be seeking the advancement of the kingdom 
of Christ; and, in seeking it, would seek to bring 
others into that kingdom. May the time come, 
speedily come, when you and I shall feel this bless- 
ed flame, as I trust we desire to,— when w^e shall 
love God with all our hearts, and serve him without 
imperfection! 



TO A FRIEND AT 



Boston, Janiiarij 21, 1 822. 

I utterly condemn the habit of unnecessarily 
alludingto the faults of each other's children . It is 
a direct violation of the law of Christian charity, 
and of the spirit of our Saviour's rule, "Do unto 
others," &c. Christians commit a great deal of sin 
in this way. If I have ever been inclined to it, I 
hope the Lord has shown me something of its 
demerit. Nor is the sin of taking occasion, from the 
imperfections of the child, to pronounce a condemna- 
tory judgment on the management of the parent, 
much smaller. If we see defects in the parent or 
child, it is right we should, in the spirit of love, in- 
form them of it. But we should never suffer our- 
selves to speak of them unnecessarily to others. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 307 

With respect to , I was immediately struck 

with her character, as exhibiting features of more 
than usual strength, and was pleased with her. In 
the plays of the children, she contributed her full 
share of amusement, and was accommodating. Our 
little folks were much interested in her. I think I 
observed in her, also, in some other things, a blunt in- 
dependence, a determined resolution to please herself, 
which did not seem amiable, which had too much 
the aspect of overlooking and disregarding the opin- 
ions of others. I cannot describe what I mean, 
better, than by saying, it was the reverse of 
that temper, which leads us to consider other peo- 
j)le's happiness as important as our own, and to meet 
them half way in their overtures of kindness. Is it 
not probable, that this trait of character has been 
strengthened by her visiting so much among your 
peopled It appears to me, this would be very 
natural, even where the constitutional tendency this 
way is not particularly strong. We all have a great 
deal of self-complacency: it is a weed which will 
grow in all hearts, and in all circumstances. How 
then can a weak and simple child, be expected to 
withstand the influence of indulgence, and flattery, 
and praise? How is it possible, that such dangerous 
stimulants can be applied, without producing most 
dangerous effects^ Your people are, perhaps, much 
better than common; but there must be, not only 
piety^ but good sense, and considerable knowledge 
of human nature, to place people on their guard 
in their intercourse with those children who are not 
amenable to them. I merely make this supposition, 

for perhaps I mistake in imagining that has 

been accustomed to visit much without her mother. 

As to what is the best method of managing this 
evil, I certainly do not feel capable, my dear friend, 
of advising you. If my simple thoughts, however, 
can be of the least service to you, I will suggest a 
few which occur to me. 



308 MEMOIBS OF 

n the first place, I should think this disposition 
would be best managed by gentleness and kindness. 
A proud spirit will not bear to be driven. Coercion 
must be resorted to, when other means have failed; 
but a proud spirit, where there is at the same time 
generosity and self-respect, is most easily subdued 
by gentleness. I know many would say otherwise, 
and would call this indulgence. But the object to 
be gained is not abject submission, at a particular 
time when the fault has been exhibited^ — a smother- 
ing of wrong feeling from a fear of showing it; but 
a conviction of the intrinsic evil of such a temper. And, 
certainly, this conviction may be best promoted by 
mildness, and a tender concern, which shall con- 
vince the child of the parent's love for him. 

In the second place, while we are governed by 
the law of kindness, such a temper should be sys- 
tematically frowned upon. And the habitual look 
of disapprobation, manifested by the parent, upon its 
first appearance, would do more, I think, toward 
subduing it, than those punishments and privations, 
which are sometimes resorted to. When the effects 
of this temper can be felt, the child should be made 
to feel them. If he is pained by the dislike of a 
friend, whom he has made no effort to please, he 
will remember, the next time, to be more cautious. 

But, after all, those motives which are drawn from 
Christian principles, will always be found to be most 
effectual. Constantly holding up to the child, the 
moral evil of pride, its contrariety to the law of 
God, to the example of Christ, to the love we owe 
to him, &c., with a corresponding temper, on the 
part of the parent, will, I believe, generally prove 
.successful. 

February 12. I returned to-day from a visit of 
a week at Bridgewater, where I have been on ac- 
count of sister Mary's health. Thanks be to God 
I find my dear family well. My time at B. was 



i 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 309 

mournfully, but I hope not unprofitably spent. 
Every thing seemed solemn; every thing reminded 
me of days gone by, and ^'smitten friends", still dear 
to this aching heart. And sister is apparently sink- 
ing, though gradually, into the grave. How could I 
but feel solemn and sad? Yet I had some very 
precious seasons in prayer, especially yesterday, 
which was my dear J.'s birth day. I wished much 
to get home, to spend the day with him, but could 
not convenientlv. I had more time, however, than 
usual on these occasions, for special prayer, and was 
much assisted. I think I never realized more the 
truth and excellence of the only way of approaching 
to God. through the great High Priest, than then; 
and never committed my cause to his intercession 
with more unreserved and confiding faith. I felt as if 
I gave myself, and my children, unreservedly^ and 
unconditionally, to God, to be his servants, sincerely 
desiring, that all our circumstances might be ordered 
with reference to this end, as the highest good. 
Whether it be on earth, or m heaven, by prosperity, 
or adversity, I thought I could say, cheerfully, 
'Amen, only let us be thy servants.' It seemed as 
if I could not let go my hold on the covenant and 
promise of God, all secured and ratified by a Sa- 
viour's finished work. And it seemed as if that Sa- 
viour received my suit, and accepted me, and my 
offering, according to his own unfathomable grace; 
and that all my ill deserts would not prevent his con-' 
ferring upon my children the free gift of eternal life. 
This covenant, gracious and sure, I take as my por- 
tion, and the portion of my children, as all my salva- 
tion, and all my desire. Only let us serve him. 
Where, and how, I leave to his wisdom to determine. 

TO MRS. H. AT BRIDGEWATER. 

Boston y March 1, 1822. 

My dear M, The wind is blowing a heavy gale, 
nnd the rain, at intervals beating violently against 



310 MEMOIRS OP 

the windows. While the storm is thus raging 
abroad, I have been thinking, how safe is the Chris- 
tian; how little reason he has to fear any thing but 
sin. If the storms he encounters drive him forward 
towards his destined haven, they will not hurt him. 
The great danger is of being hindered in our progress 
toward heaven, and turning back to the shores of this 
world. Has our blessed Saviour called us to follow 
him, and have we obeyed the call'? If so. He, the 
Captain of our salvation, constantly observes and 
protects us; condescends to notice, and direct all 
circumstances respecting us. And, whether the 
duration of the period in which we must be tossing 
on our passage heavenward, be longer or shorter, 
all will be just asitshould be, because it will be just 
as He pleases. Yet is he not happiest, who is near- 
est home'? My better feelings say, Yes. 

I expect to go at nine, to watch with Mrs. E., who 
is very sick. You will be awake some part of the 
night, and I shall be thinking of you. God will 
make all your bed in your sickness. Wearisome 
nights have been borne by many of the Lord's peo- 
ple before you. And he knows what you can bear. 
Adieu. 

TO THE SAME. 

Boston, March 8; 1822. 

I feel my own heart to be too earthly to attempt 
adding any thing to those motives to resignation, the 
efficacy and preciousness of which you are taught so 
much better by the great Teacher, than you could 
be by any earthly friend. May He continue to put 
underneath you his everlasting arms, to baptize you 
wdth the Holy Ghost, to purify you, in the ^^fountain 
filled with blood," from every spot and stain of sin, 
that you may be adorned, and prepared to go in and 
sit down at the marriage supper of the Lamb! There 
are Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, all the excellent 
and worthy that have ever lived since the world be- 



MRS. SUSAN KUNTINGTON. - 311 

gan. There are many of the dear friends of our 
pilgrimagej beloved ones, whose memory is to us 
like ointment poured forth. There are gathering in 
ail the excellent and the worthy who are now, and 
who shall be, on the earth, from all the generations 
of man, till the end of time; — All brought to this 
glorious feast, and made perfectly blessed in the full 
enjoyment of God! What a company! And there, 
above all, is the Saviour, who hath loved us unto 
death, the great High Priest and King of our salva- 
tion; whom the Christian loves, and who hath said, 
"Father, I will that they whom thou hast given me 
be with me where I am, that they may behold my 
glory." 

March 24. It is my constant misery that I do 
not love God more. And I know by experience, 
that it is not in outward circumstances, either of one 
sort or another, but in our own hearts, that we must 
find the sources of our backslidings. Sometimes I 
think, that if I had not so many temptations from the 
world, I should get along better. But when these 
are absent, my common and lawful concerns will, in 
some way or other, operate in the same manner on 
my sinful nature. Thus it is proved that all the evil 
is in myself. If God should give me all the blessings 
of this life, and extend to me his grace, I should be 
spiritual. If he withheld that, though I imposed on 
myself all the abstinences and austerities of Papal 
superstition, I should be a wretched worldling. It 
is to the tendencies of my own depraved heart that 
I must look for the causes of my wanderings; in their 
amendment alone can I hope for the cure of my 
backslidings. One thing I knoiv; If God should 
leave me one moment, I should plunge myself in 
irrecoverable ruin. His arm is my only bulwark 
against perdition. All the adequate causes of eternal 
apostacy are within me. Can I be saved'? Jesus, I 
fly to thee. 



312 MEMOIRS OF 

April 3. I have felt more indifference to the world, 
a few days past, than for some time before, and u 
sweet feeling of desire and of comfort, when I think 
of leaving every thing here, and going to be with 
Christ. 

5. Colquhoun on the Covenant of Grace is, on the 
whole, one of the best books I have ever read. It 
clears away all the sinners common objections against 
the freeness of the Gospel offer, and removes the 
discouragements which keep him from Christ on the 
ground of his unfitness, better than any other treatise 
I have seen. The fulness and freeness of the re- 
demption purchased by Christ are most delightfully 
exhibited, although the writer seemed to me some- 
what shackled, in some parts of the work, by his 
peculiar views respecting the extent of the atone- 
ment. It has been a delightful book to me, especially 
the part which shev/s that sanctification is secured 
by the terms of the Covenant. The way of obtain- 
ing sanctifying grace, through the Lord Jesus Christ, 
and the certainty of obtaining it, because it is a pur- 
chased and promised blessing of the Covenant of 
Grace, are precious truths. Oh to live, with the sim- 
plicity of a little child, on this well ordered and sure 
Covenant, till that which is perfect shall be revealed! 
But grace will never end. Eternity will be forever 
{dwelling the unfathomable ocean of Jehovah's grace. 
And this seems very sw^eet to me. To be eternally 
indebted to God; to love him more and more, and 
be bound to love him more and more, by receiving 
that w^hich will be continually magnifying his im- 
measurable grace, seems to be what I want. I love 
to have God receive all the glory forever and ever. 

TO MR. ~, OF 

Boston, April 8, 1822. 

Dear Sir. In reply to the last part of your letter, 
allow me to say, I am afraid your opinions, or ex- 



3ms. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 313 

pectationSj which ever you please, are not perfectly 
correct. ^'Expect not perfection, but insist on con- 
sistency," says Mrs. More. Many sensible, accom- 
plished, elegant, and pious women may be found. 
But the angel which your imagination has pictured, 
and held up to your view as the only object upon 
which you could place your affections, cannot be 
found. Do not think I am trifling. The desire I 
feel for your happiness, makes me anxious you should 
form, and indulge, only such rational and just desires 
as may be safely allowed, in a world where all is 
necessarily imperfect. Change of place and situation^ 
in this world, can only be change of duty and triaL 
Far am I from believing, that all situations are equally 
favourable for happiness. This would be childish. 
Yet, if we have not the good sense, and sound prin- 
ciple, which will enable us to make the best of our 
present circumstances, we have no reason to believe 
we should be happy in any. To receive cheerfully 
and thankfully, all the good which heaven has now 
placed within our reach, and to moderate our desires 
and expectations for to-morrow, is true wisdom. 
The great secret of being happy is to keep the heart 
right, as you very well know. Where the supreme 
source of happiness is God, all will go well. The 
subordinate comforts which result from human rela- 
tionships will be received with thankfulness, and 
their attending sorrows endured without that impa- 
tience and restlessness of spirit, which is the almost 
necessary consequence of disappointment. 

If it be best for you, I hope your Father in heaven 
will one day bestow upon you, not indeed a perfect 
woman, but just such an one as His own wisdom 
shall judge the fittest for you. Acknowledge Him 
in reference to this subject. She must be the best 
wife for you whom the Lord chooses. I love to see 
Christians depending, with the simplicity of little 
children, on the blessed God, their God and Father 
m all things. It is of great importance that a minis- 
27 



314 



MEMOIRS OF 



ter have the right sort of wife. It is surprising 
how much his usefulness may be retarded or pro- 
moted by her infiuence. Is it then a matter of so 
small concern as not to be worth carrying to the 
Lord? No. Ask his guidance and follow his prov- 
idence, and you will find happiness even in this wil- 
derness. But that kind and degree of sohcitude 
which enfeebles our capacities for present duty, should 
not be indulged. A mind wasting its strength, either 
in hopeless regrets for the past; or visionary calcula- 
tions for the future, is a pitiable object. God gives 
us this moment to employ for him. It is all we 
can call our own; and it demands all the energies and 
all the .activities of our nature. How much is our 
progress in holiness impeded by spiritual sloth, that 
want of singleness of heart toward God, which would 
make us feel that our highest fehcity must result 
from loving and glorifying him, and that this felicity 
is now within our reach, and an object worth labour- 



ing for! 



TO MRS. H., OF BRIDGEWATER. 



Boston, April IS, 1822. 

Scarcely any subject has pressed itself upon my 
thoughts with more satisfaction, than that of the 
progressive nature of Christianity. I love to see the 
spirit of heaven diffusing itself, as it does, more and 
more, over the whole soul of the Christian as he 
advances nearer heaven. I think I love to see others 
growing in grace and glorifying God, though sensible 
that my own sloth and worldly-mindedness are ren- 
dered more apparent, by being compared with their 
spirituality and devotedness. 

We have a new thing here, — a Union Prayer 
Meeting, attended by all denominations of evangel- 
ical Christians. The second meeting was held this 
evening, which the rain has prevented my attend- 
ing. It appears to me, however, it will be very 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 315 

pleasant to see such a union, and to hear prayer for 
the same blessings offered up by those who have 
hitherto had little or no intercourse as brethren. 
Some are expecting great things from this union. 
Would that events may answer this expectation! We 
should not be faithless, but believing; yet it seems 
to me that the people of God are not yet prepared 
for a revival of religion. There is among them, too 
much conformity to the w'orld, too much cleaving to 
beggarly elements, too little willingness to labour 
and make sacrifices for Christ, and to bear, so far as 
need be, his reproach, to justify any very strong 
hopes of an immediate revival among us. It is ivhen 
the servants of God begin to take pleasure in the stones 
and to favour the dust of Zion, that the time to favour 
her is come, 

TO THE SAME. 

Boston, April 21, 1822. 

I feel much concern, my dear M., at the last ac- 
counts from you. And yet why should I? God loves 
you infinitely better than I do. If therefore, he 
does not restore your health, his reasons are such 
as v/ould satisfy us all, if w^e understood them. This 
I know. And when I think of you, my sister, I am 
more disposed to bless God than any thing else. What 
a mercy that your mind is so sweetly stayed upon 
Him, who is indeed true and faithful, and who has 
said, ''I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee?" 
Whatever we may think of it, it is an enviable thing 
to be nearly delivered from all the toils, and pains, 
and enemies, and pollutions, of this w^ilderness, to 
have nearly arrived at the boundary of the promised 
land of our everlasting rest. It is so. But, alas! I 
feel the subject to be too spiritual, too etherial, for 
my earthly, grovelling mind to grasp. To be like 
the angels, to love and serve God with the singleness 
of devotion, the unceasing activity, the unmingled 



316 



BIEMOIRS OF 



holiness, and the complete consecration of all the 
faculties to the blessed employment, which character- 
ize their worship, sometimes looks so enviable to me^ 
that I feel almost ready to die any moment to attain 
it. It would be thus with me always, were it not for 
the inveterate carnality of my nature, which cannot 
long fix itself upon the spiritual, the holy realities 
of the upper world. Yes, if the language of our 
hearts was, "As the hart panteth after the water 
brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God," we 
should be willing to die, and rejoice to die, as the 
best, the only means of attaining the accomplish- 
ment of our desires, at least, when it became mani- 
festly the will of our Father in heaven. 



TO MKS. T. OF D. 

^05^072, April 2S, 1822. 

My dear friend. I believe I love you the better 
for all your mental trials. There is something in 
beholding our friends suffer in any way, which ex- 
cites sympathy, and sympathy begets love. When 
all goes on smoothly with our friends, we think they 
can do well enough without us, and perhaps we do not 
feel so strong affection, where we view ourselves as 
wholly unimportant. This is doubtless wrong, but 
it is, I believe, true. In the sorrows which you 
were experiencing, when you wrote last, my dear 
H., I can, I do, sympathize: I sympathize in them 
all; in those which respect yourself, and those which 
pertain to your children. They are my own. And 
fain would I write something which may have a 
quickening influence on us both. 

In the first place, let us beware of despondency, 
or a gloomy faithlessness in the Covenant of God's 
grace. It is true, we are all you describe, back- 
sliders, rebellious children; who would, long ago, 
have wearied out the goodness of our Benefactor, 
were he not infinite in mercv. We may, on some 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 317 

accounts, be greater sinners than others, if guilt is to 
be measured by love resisted, and grace abused. This 
should humble us. It should lay us low in the dust, 
with the spirit of filial brokenness of heart before 
our injured and compassionate God. It should 
make us sigh and mourn under a sense of our pol- 
lution, and labour for sanctification. But it should 
not wither our strength, and consume our spirits in 
faithless sorrow. Oh, no. ^Taint, yet pursuing," 
should be our motto. The spiritual sloth Avhich 
results from indifference, and the spiritual debility, 
which arises from unbelief, are equally dangerous to 
the soul. It is no less true in spiritual than in tem- 
poral things, ''that the hand of the diligent maketh 
rich, but he that dealeth with a slack hand becometh 
poor." One of the benefits secured to believers by 
the promises of God's vv^ell ordered Covenant is 
sanctification. This was purchased for them by 
their great Mediator and Head, who is e.\alted to be 
a Prince and a Saviour to bestow upon his people 
the blessings he has obtained for them; and he wdll 
bestow them. He does not send us on a w^arfare at 
our own charges. Ke proffers us all necessary grace. 
All we need is treasured up in Him in whom we 
profess to believe, and may be obtained by looking 
to him in the exercise of a lively faith. 

Let us then, never be contented, while our spirit- 
ual enemies are unsubdued, but fight manfully the 
good fight of faith. Alas! I know not how it is, but 
there seems to be a something w^ithin us which pre- 
vents our resolutely determining to give our tempta- 
tions no quarter. The world holds out her allurements, 
her flatteries please us; our pride, or our selfishness, 
is gratified; and we do not say to the ensnaring 
tempter, 'Get thee behind me Satan.' This is my 
greatest trouble — the w^ant of singleness of heart 
toward God, the abiding, practical determination to 
resist every sin in its first specious advances. What 
ingratitude toward Him who loved us unto death, 
27^ 



318 



MEMOIRS OF 



toward Him whom, if we are Christians, we love, 
after all, far better that we love all other things; 
toward Him for whom we should be willing to live, 
and labour, and suffer, and die! 

We must be much in prayer for our children. We 
must daily give them to our God, to be his servants. 
We must take hold of his Covenant for them, as all 
our salvation and all our desire; remembering that 
^^ eternal life" is 'Hhe gift of God"— a free gift, "not 
for our merits or deservings," but of his own un- 
fathomable grace. Let our sins and short-comings 
in reference to our children, humble, but not dis- 
courage us. And, while we labour to know how 
we may most effectually promote their best interests, 
and strive after a corresponding course of conduct, 
let us remember that God knows all our difficulties 
and hindrances, the troubles we meet with, in our- 
selves, from them, and from the world which lieth 
in wickedness. And let us trust to His promise who 
has said, " My grace is sufficient for thee," 

TO HER ELDEST DAUGHTER, AT BOSTON. 

Bridgewater, May 9, 1822„ 

I received your letter, my dear S., with much 
pleasure. The good accounts you give me, of your 
brother and sister, rejoice my heart. I trust they 
will continue to deserve my approbation, by striving 
to do whatever they believe I would wish were I 
with them. If children knew how certainly a de- 
parture from the path of duty wounds the conscience, 
and brings sorrow and distress upon the mind, they 
would labour more earnestly to avoid sin. "The 
way of transgressors is hard," says the wise man; 
and he says the truth. God forbid, that any of my 
dear children should know the truth of the declara- 
tion, in its full extent, by experience! There is only 
one Way to keep from sin; that is, persevering resist- 
ance to temptation, and prayer. Without prayingj 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 319 

you will never successfully resist sin; it will be too 
strong for you. My dear children, you are in an 
enemy's country. Fear temptation, fear sin, fear 
oifending God; but always remember, for your en- 
couragement, that there is One who is able to help 
you. He loves to see little children looking^ to him 
for aid. And he has said, "Ask, and ye shall receive; 
seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened 
unto you." 

I have just come from your aunt Mary's sick 
room, and it is late; so I have only time to inform 
you, that this dear aunt has almost got to heaven. 
The pallid cheek, the hollow eye, the wasted form, 
the quick and laborious breathing, all indicate that 
the flame of life is nearly extinguished. A few more 
struggles of feeble, pained, dissolving mortality, and 
all will be over. But your aunt is happy. She had 
a wakeful, suffering night, last night; coughing in- 
cessantly, and burning with fever, and distressed for 
breath; and yet she told me this morning, that she 
never felt God nearer to her than last night, that she 
knew his hand dispensed to her every trial, and his 
mercy would be sufficient for her. What makes 
your aunt so happy m this hour of sorrow, when all 
the men on earth could do her no good? It is reli- 
gion, my daughter. She has a hope w^hich is as an 
anchor to her soul. 

May 29. I have just returned from a visit to 
Bridge water, where I have been to receive the last 
parting blessmg of dear sister Mary. It was a sad 
and solemn scene, well calculated to soften my heart. 
I am depressed in spirits. AH the solitude and sor- 
rows of my own lonely state seem to break in upon 
me afresh; and my mind is greatly distressed witli 
a sense of my hardness under all my own personal 
chastisements, and under this solemn providence. I 
have been trying to lay the matter before God, that 
I may obtain forgiveness for the past, and strength 
for the future; and, particularly, that God will ever 



320 BIEMOIRS OP 

go before me as my Guide, and never suffer me lo 
do any thing inconsistent v^^ith his glory. I greatly 
fear and dread being left to do any thing myself. I 
would take the word of God as my only directory, 
and the grace of God as my only support, in all that 
I desire, and in all that I do. 

TO MRS. S.,"^ OF ERIDGEWATER. 

Boston, June I, 1822. 

I feel deeply, since my return, for your dear 
family. I know the heart-rending pangs you will 
suffer, when you will be ready to say, "All his 
waves and his billows are going over me; I sink in 
the deep waters, where there is no standing," — and 
my heart aches for you. But I trust He, who speaks 
the word, and the storms of nature, and the more 
fearful storms of the spirit, are stilly will speak peace 
to your souls. Strive, my dear friends, to exercise 
the disposition of a child, under this severe rebuke. 
Strive after the penitence of a child for the past, the 
submission and trust of a child for the present, and 
the obedience of a child for the future; and God will 
shew you how able he is to comfort you as a Father. 
I commend you, and myself, and our dear little 
ones, to his grace. Let him be our portion, let 
him bless us, and all will be well — well for time* 
well for eternity. 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. Y. 

Boston June 3; 1822. 

In our dear Mary's removal, I feel that I have sus- 
tained another loss. The sweet, lamb-like spirit 
which she exhibited the last years of her life, and 
her increasing love for me, make me feel that anoth- 
er, whom I loved m.ost tenderly, is gone. I feel 

* The mother of Mrs. H.; whose decease was referred to in the pre= 
ceding extract. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTOJT. 32l 

that the world is losing much that has been valued. 
And, were it not for the beams of light and hope 
which are shed upon it from a holier region, I should 
be ready to say. All is darkness and shade. Oh, to 
turn away our eyes and our hearts to that brighter 
world, where all is happiness without mixture and 
without end! 

I am reading Owen on Spiritual Mindedness; and 
I find it a very trying book. But I hope, my dear 
sister, God will undertake for us both, and carry 
forward the work of our sanctification, amid all our 
hindrances from without, and all our discourage- 
ments from within. And if he does, it will be ac- 
complished. It does seem to me that I love the 
spirit of humility, that I desire to take my place at 
the feet of my Saviour, and never to thmk highly of 
myself again. Oh, the hope of deliverance is like 
cold water to a thirsty souL 

TO HER SISTER AT KILUNGWORTH. 

Boston, June 10, 1822, 

I have thought a good deal lately of your dear 
boy; and, when praying for my own son, have often 
had much freedom in praying for him. Who knows 
but he may come up to take the place in the church 
of that dear departed grandfather, whom I never 
knew. God is wonderfully manifesting himself /or 
the seed of his people at the present day. I do not 
doubt you daily give him to Christ as his servant. 
I think you should hope for great things respecting 
him. Pious laymen, at the present day, have an 
opportunity of doing almost as much for the advance- 
ment of Christ's kingdom, as Ministers. For my 
own children, I desire not to prescribe how or where 
they shall serve God. This I would leave to his 
wisdom, whether it shall be in heaven or on earth, 
at home or in the ends of the earth, as public or as 
private characters. But that they may be His ser--. 



322 MEMOIRS OF 

vants^ this one hope I would press to my bosom till I 
die. Not because I deserve any blessing. But be- 
cause nothing is too much to hope for from that 
God, who hath given his only begotten Son to die 
for the redemption of man; and because that work is 
finished, and he can now glorify himself in our sal- 
vation; because he has promised that the Redeemer 
''shall see of the travail of his soul, and be satisfied;" 
and because he has declared himself the Covenant 
God of believers, ''and of their seed after them." I 
have forfeited all claim to the Covenant of his grace 
a thousand, thousand times. Nevertheless "He is 
mindful of his covenant." Though we change, He 
abideth faithful. His purposes of mercy shall pre- 
vail, not only in opposition to our numberless sins, 
but to their utter destruction, if we are his children; 
and the top-stone of our salvation shall be laid amidst 
the shoutings of "Grace^ grace unto it," Here is 
all my hope, for myself and for my children. 



June 15. This dear people often profess to have 
derived comfort and profit from my visits among 
them, especially in seasons of afBiction. But it 
makes me ashamed to hear these things. I fear 
there are yet within me unexplored depths of iniqui- 
ty. The remains of that constant enemy of my 
peace, pride, have shown themselves, of late, to be 
still powerful. But I would open every secret cham- 
ber of my soul to God, and spread out all the defile- 
ments and deceits of my heart before him. "He 
that trusteth in his own heart," says Solomon, "is a 
fool." God forbid that I should ever trust in mine! 
Oh for some spiritual strength, some spiritual feeling! 
I am becalmed in the ocean of this world. Jesus, 
great Captain of salvation, undertake for me, and 
iielp me to part with every thing which hinders and 
holds me back. Save me. Lord! save me! 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 323 



TO MRS. S., AT BRIDGEWATER. 

Boston f June 16; 1822, 

All that can be seen here of nature, is quiet, and 
serene, and lovely. But my heart is sad, and so is 
yours. I take my pen to relieve my own spirits, 
by communing with a friend. And to this mo- 
tive is added another — that of extending to the sol- 
itary and mourning mother, the expression of my 
sympathy. Yes, I do feel for you, my afflicted friend. 
And all the shades of sorrow which pour their deep- 
ening gloom over your wounded heart, I know; for 
I too am a mourner. Who can tell the sense of 
hopeless solitude, the shipwreck of earthly expecta- 
tions, which they groan under, whom the Lord hath 
written desolate? The sun shines the same, nature 
rejoices, and all the great machinery of universal 
providence moves on without interruption; but no 
revolutions can restore that which has been smitten 
with the touch of death. The chasm stares fearfully 
upon us; and we say of this beautiful world, 'It is 
a wilderness, a desert!' 

But this is the dark side of the picture. Nature 
has, and must have, some such moments, but they 
are not her best. And I would now endeavour to 
rouse both you and myself from these withering, 
these consuming recollections. It is sin to indulge 
ourselves in sorrow, so far as to unfit us for present 
or future duty. It is sin for us not to feel, that God 
can be to us more than any thing he has removed. 
What are creatures, what are all our comforts, 
without him^ They are to us just what he makes 
them. And, if he please, can he not still give us 
what we need of temporal comfort? O, yes. If we 
could but find our happiness now in what the angels 
do, how every earthly trial would lessen. And is it 
not wise, to begin at least, to place our happiness 
in what we certainly shall place it in, if we ever ge.t 



324 



MEMOIRS OF 



to heaven? And what is the happiness of the an- 
gels? Doing the will, and promoting the glory, of 
God. And this source of felicity temporal circum- 
stances cannot affect. 

My dear Mrs. S., while you are meekly laying 
yourself under the rod of the Almighty, while you 
patiently endure as seeing Him who is invisible, 
while you say, with the spirit of a child, 'All I have 
is his, let him do what he will with his own;' may 
you not be happy? While you labour and pray for 
those dear children; while you strive to fill, in some 
measure, to them, the place of their beloved mother, 
may you not be happy? While you are exerting 
yourself, in every way opened to you in providence, 
for the coming of Christ's kingdom, doing good to 
his members, and striving to promote his glory, may 
you not be happy? Yes, my friend. And this is 
heavenly happiness begun in a world of sorrow, 
where the sins and the pains of mortality do often 
interrupt it, where the tear of grief often dims the 
eye, and the pang of distress heaves the bosom; but 
it shall be maintained through all the interruptions 
it meets with in the present state, and receive its 
consummation in that world where those who love 
God shall mourn and sigh no more. 

June 24. Yesterday was S.'s^ birth day. I ob- 
served it as a season of fasting and prayer; to remem- 
ber and confess before God, S.'s sins and my own, 
and our family sins, to spread them all out before 
the Lord, and seek the application of the blood of 
atonement, that past iniquities might not keep back 
God's mercy from my children. I especially desired 
to repent in dust and ashes of some of my own trans- 
gressions, particularly the sins of pride, and of a 
disposition to turn back to something in this world, 
either possessed or desired, for rest and comfort, and 
an unevenness of temper which makes me impatient 

"^ One of her da.U2hters. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 325 

with the daily little faults of my children, such as 
carelesness, noisy and inattentive behpcviour, &c. 
These things in them, I ought to mourn over as sins; 
but they should not ruffle or discompose my temper. 
I thought I desired, not only pardon for the past, 
but grace to resist all sin for the time to come. I 
had much freedom in ^ prayer, and I hope some 
strength of faith in giving up my dear S. to be 
Vv^holly the Lord's. I do trust the Lord will make 
her his, and that all my children will be the servants 
of God. 

July 3. It is my fervent desire that the continual 
experience I have of the weakness and sinfulness of 
my nature, may make me very tender and pitiful 
toward my erring, sinning fellow creatures; that, 
knowing how unable I am to resist temptation when 
left to my own strength, I may be charitable in my 
judgment of others, and, instead of harshly condemn- 
ing the sinner, hate the sin, and carry it all to Him 
who alone is able to deliver either them or me out 
of temptation! Lord, grant me a compassionatCj char- 
itable temper toward others, and constant, unrelent- 
ing severity tow^ard my own sinful propensities! 



TO MRS. T., OF D, 

Boston, July 4, 1822. 

Has not our Father in heaven the entire manage- 
ment of all the peculiarities of our circumstances, 
the lesser and the greater? And is it not safest, 
is it not best, for us that it is so? Let this be felt, 
and we shall rest in the belief that all is just as it 
should be. "They that believe, do enter into rest," 
even as to the things of this life, so far as they be- 
lieve. If you are a child of God, he as certainly 
appoints and directs all the little vexations which you 
find so uncomfortable, and as constantly eyes the 
advancement of your interest by them, as can be the 
case with any of your heavier afflictions. Have you 
read Henry on Meekness^ I found it a most excellent 
28 



326 MEMOIRS OF 

work. '^We must be quiet," says this good man. 
^^under afflictions, as the air is quiet from winds. It 
is not well to be wind-bound in dulness and indiffer- 
ence; but tempests are perilous, though the wind be 
in the right point." The habit of feeling too deeply 
the unavoidable ills of life, is one into which the 
most interesting and delicate and generous of our 
race are most likely to fall. But it should be guard- 
ed against. The sensibility which is amiable and 
lovely, when duly regulated, becomes a most mis- 
chievous companion to its possessor when not thus 
regulated. You may say to me, 'Physician, heal 
thyself.' But if I love you, I shall desire you to 
escape all the troubles which my want of wisdom 
and want of grace have occasioned me. 

I have been thinking lately, more than usual, what 
our deficiencies in parental government are most 
likely to be: and I rather think we are in danger of 
erring on the side of indulgence. Many things 
would naturally incline us to this; and it is a fault 
which would bear most ruinously upon our children, 
especially upon our sons. It is of great importance 
that they should discover in us no inconsistencies, 
to lessen their confidence in our judgment, and no 
impatience and irritation at their miscarriages, to 
weaken their persuasion of our piety. While their 
faults should never be connived at, they should be 
met with such a spirit, as to convince them at once, 
that it is not the trouble they give us that disturbs 
our minds, but the sin they have committed against 
God. Absolute obedience should be insisted on. 
Nothing short of this should ever be allowed to an- 
swer. When we see the proud spirit rising, and 
threatening rebellion, let us take the Bible, and, 
while we shew our children the awful guilt we should 
incur by suffering them to resist our authority with 
impunity, let us assure them that, by the grace of 
God, we never will incur this guilt; that we will 
labour till our latest breath, to enforce upon them 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON, 



327 



the reasonableness and the necessity of yielding an 
unreserved obedience to all God's commandments, of 
which, "Children, obey your parents in all things," 
is one. I was struck a few days ago with w^hat God 
said to Eli concerning his children. See 1 Sam. ii. 
27 — 30. It seems to me that no Christian parent 
can expect God to bless his children, unless he 
••honours" Him, by requiring of them obedience to 
all that he has commanded. And when they, osten- 
sibly and unequivocally, fail of doing this, it should 
be treated as a great sin, with which God is especial- 
ly displeased in them, on account of their peculiar 
relation to his Church. 

Let me urge you never to yield to despondency. 
Remember him who hath said, "I will never leave 
thee, nor forsake thee." The permission of these 
mental distresses on the part of God, is necessary 
to shew us our weakness. So far all is right. But 
we should not yield to them. We should not suffer 
them to cast a veil over our spiritual vision, and 
prevent our discerning the light and grace and 
strength of Him who is the Author and Finisher of 
all our graces, and all our hopes. Let us trust him 
forever. 



TO MRS. \\\, THEN AT J., N. Y. 

Boston, July 28, 1822. 

It has been like October the last week. I don't 
know how it is, but autumn is my favourite season. 
It used to be dull to me. The falling of the leaves, 
and the undressing of nature, occasioned feelings of 
melancholy. But it is otherwise now. There'^is a 
pensiveness, a tranquil sadness, (if we can be sad 
without being unhappy,) cast over me now, by the 
return of this season; but it is a quiet, serene feel- 
ing, which whispers of spirits departed to a quiet 
world beyond the sky, where the hurried pursuits, 
and gilded temptations, and heart-breaking sorrows, 



^^S MEMOIRS OF 

of life, are unknown. That autumn of the soul, that 
peaceful advancement toward the termination of the 
season of trial, which the faithful Christian experi- 
ences when his labours and his conflicts are nearly 
over, seems, in the contemplation, very refreshing 
to me. But these enjoyments are for the faithful 
Christian. They must be gained by many a weary 
step, many a painful struggle, many a hard earned 
victory. This is the time for resisting, striving, 
fighting. May we gird on the whole armour of 
God, and never lose, at least this one evidence of 
our adoption, a firm and resolute resistance of sin, 
the enemy that must be conquered, or all our hopes 
will be found to have been vain. 

TO MRS. S. AT BRIDGEWATER. 

Boston, August 2, 1822. 

M. the Lord hath taken, and now S. is danger- 
ously sick. You seem, my dear madam, called to 
various trials of your faith; and I suppose you some- 
times feel, that your cup of sorrow is overflowing. 
Yet, notwithstanding all the heart-breaking certain- 
ties of actual experience, and all the dreary antici- 
pations of unknown difficulties to come, let me say 
to you, my dear afflicted friend. Trust in the Lord, 
for "none of them that trust in him shall be deso- 
late." "As thy days, so shall thy strength be." He 
will not lay more upon you than he will enable you to 
bear. Does he not know all your circumstances, aJl 
your necessities? And is he unfaithful that he should 
call those who trust in his promises and seek his aid, 
to any trials which he will not give them strength 
to endure, to any duties which he will not give them 
grace to perform'? "Commit thy way unto the Lord;" 
yea, "trust in him at all times." If he cuts you oflT 
from creatures, it is to drive you to himself. Let 
this end be gained, and all will yet be well. Yes, 
your wearv footsteps shall be safely guided through 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 329 

tills rugged path. The way may be watered with 
your tears; but it is the way of his people, it is the 
way of the Lord. It is the path of conflict indeed; 
but it shall prove to you the path of victory, and its 
end shall be heaven. 

With most of us there is a fearful prevalence of 
unbelief and spiritual sloth. The fire from heaven 
may have been kindled in our hearts, but it is smoth- 
ered, and nearly extinguished, beneath the mass of 
sin and death which cleaves to us. It cannot warm 
our own souls; no wonder then we are unable to 
communicate light and warmth to others. Alas! 
how often do I feel it to be so with myself; and that I 
am dreadfully guilty, not only of preventing my own 
growth in grace, but of defrauding others of the im- 
provement which they might, perhaps, derive from 
me, if my soul were in a right state; for who is the 
Christian so mean, so low, that may not communi- 
cate to others the flame of holy aflection which is 
glowing in his own heart? And if afflictions may 
rouse :us from this spiritual insensibility, shall we 
not willingly suffer.^ 

August 3. Among the trials of my present situa- 
tion, (which, blessed be God! is more pleasant, than 
I ever expected it to be, in this world,) that of feel- 
ing myself continually liable to ungenerous remark, 
is one! My natural disposition is frank and aflfec- 
tionate. But I sometimes fear, lest the most inno- 
cent expressions of feeling, should be misconstrued, 
and the most innocent remarks, misapprehended. I 
always thought myself unusually exact, in my notions 
of female propriety. It is what I have respected 
myself for, or, perhaps more properly, been proud 
of. And there is a particular vexation in being the 
subject of remark to little minds, who are wholly 
unable to appreciate the principles by which persons 
of elevated and refined feelings are guided. But 
why all this uneasy and restless disturbance of mv 
28* 



330 



MEMOIRS OF 



proud heart? Who am I, to expect an exemption 
from the common lot of the youthful widow? Help 
me, Lord, to avoid even the appearance of evil, and 
mourn over what is wrong, and quietly leave the rest 
to thee. 

TO A FRIEND AT ANDOVER. 

JSridgeiuater , August 26; 1822. 

I have concluded to send my son to your academy. 
Maternal attachment pleaded hard in favour of re- 
taining him in Boston, but judgment prevailed. I 
feel many new anxieties for him; and turning him 
abroad upon a world which lieth in wickedness, 
seems full of danger. But I am not his keeper; and, 
whether with me or from me, his only security is in 
the grace of Him who is able to deliver from temp- 
tation, to whom I gave him at his baptism, and 
endeavour in faith to commit him every day. 

TO HER SON, AT PHILLIPS ACADEMY, ANDOVER. 

Boston, September 27, 1822. 

My dear J. You have been accustomed to come 
to me in all your difficulties, as your friend and 
adviser. What I have been to you, my son, I shall 
always be while I live. I v/ish you to write freely 
tome. Tell me what are your trials and enjoyments. 
Speak freely to me of your faults. And let me 
assure you, your heart will always be in the wrong, 
when you are unwilling to do this. Your case will 
be alarming indeed, if you ever yield to a disposi- 
tion to conceal your faults. Mr. C.^ is your friend. 
Never think him the less so, because he tells you 
your faults. It is the best possible proof he can 
give you of his love. What motive can he have for 
reproving you, but a desire to promote your welfare? 

* His guardian at Andover. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 331 

Receive his counsels and admonitions then with grat- 
itude. Remember, my dear boy, you were not sent 
to Andover to trifle. You were not created to trifle. 
You were made to act, for the glory of God, and the 
good of mankind Let your daily endeavour be, to 
live as one who must soon give account to God. 
Daily pray, Lead me not into temptation. And 
never do any thing which conscience tells you God 
does not approve. Farewell my child. The God 
of }our fathers, bless and sanctify you. . 

October 5. I have had, to-night, a deep and solemn 
sense of the certainty and nearness of eternal things, 
more of a strengthening faith to perceive the sub- 
stance and feel the evidence of things hoped for and 
unseen, than for a long time. The thick veil be- 
tw^een my soul and heavenly objects, seemed some- 
what removed, so that invisible vealities were 
presented, with unusual clearness, to the view of my 
faith. Alas! I have lived the past summer, too 
much as the world live. My hopes and fears, de- 
sires and enjoyments, have been, in a great degree, 
earthly. But, oh my Saviour! there is a faith which 
enters into that within the veil, and overcomes the 
world; which gives to the subjects of revelation, a 
reality and a certainty to the mind, that makes them 
effectual means of sanctification. I know it is so. 
Oh for such a faith! Oh for a broken heart, and a 
disposition to turn away fiom every earthly object 
that would keep me from thee. 

HO HER SON, AT ANDOVER. 

Boston, October 8, 1822. 

In the wicked world, with which you are now 
compelled to mingle to some extent, you will often 
hear wrong opinions advanced, and wrong actions 
vindicated. There are those who call evil good, and 
good evil, who put light for darkness, and darkness 



332 MEMOIRS OF 

for light. I wish you to be aware of this, and to 
expect that you will often meet with persons of this 
description. And, if you will not be corrupted and 
ruined, you must have a principle of some sort that 
will enable you to encounter such temptations with- 
out injury. Now what is the principle that will 
enable you to do this? In the first place, an en- 
lightened conscience^ to enable you to distinguish the 
right from the wrong; and, in the next place, firm- 
ness or stability. You must judge for yourself, 
under a sense of your accountability to God; and 
then never, as you value your own peace of mind, 
do what you have decided that it is wrong to do. 
Depend upon it, a boy will always esteem you the 
more for a firm resistance of temptation, though he 
may laugh at you. Depend upon it, that independ- 
ence which will hold you steadily in the right path, 
will ensure to you, not only your own peace of 
mind, but the respect of others. But, after all, God 
must be your helper and keeper. The Psalmist 
prayed, ''Hold thou me up, and I shall be safe." 
And this has been the prayer of all good men ever 
since. Heaven grant it may be yours. 

What have you gone to Andover for, my son? 
God knows, I think I may say, that, on my part, 
you were sent thither to fit you the better to be the 
Lord's. Yes, you have been given to God. I have, 
in your behalf, renounced every thing which might 
hinder your being entirely his. I have devoted 
you to the service of the Saviour. I submit cheer- 
fully to all the sacrifices connected with your sepa- 
ration from me, that you may prepare to stand upon 
the Lord's side, and be valiant for him on the earth. 
What say you to all this? Do you choose this ser- 
vice? Do you give yourself to God? Do you do 
this daily? Do you desire to manifest that you are 
on the side of Jesus Christ? My -dear child, delay 
not to yield yourself up wholly to God. Be much 
in prayer, and in reading the Bible, Strive to enter 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 333 

ill at the strait gate. God forbid that you should 
resist all the weighty obligations which bind you to 
his service, and make your way, through them all, 
down the fearful road that is trodden only by his 
enemies, and which termmates in the endless hor- 
rors of the second death! My heart sickens at the 
thought. I would take you by the hand, and con- 
duct you in the blessed way marked by the steps of 
all holy beings who have lived on earth, by apostles 
and prophets, and by the great High Priest of our 
profession, Jesus the Son of God, who left us an 
example, that we should walk in his steps. It is a 
pleasant way, my dear J. The peace of God de- 
scends upon the traveller who pursues the blessed 
path. It is ^'the highw^ay of holiness;" and to them 
Avho walk in it, God is a sun and shade, a defence 
and deliverance. He holds them in his hand. He 
guides them by his counsel. He receives them up 
to glory. 

October 12. I have been begging to have my 
dross consumed, and my graces refined, to be filled 
with the spirit of Christ, to be clothed with humility, 
to be imbued with that spirit of benevolence which 
shall make me long and labour, in my poor measure, 
for the good of others, and neither demand nor 
desire any return. 

I wish to live in a reasonable independence of this 
world; to take what my God gives me thankfully, 
and wish for nothing more. If I perceive attentions 
once shewn me withheld, not to be disturbed as one 
who has placed her happiness in these poor distinc- 
tions; and to hold myself ready to seize every 
favourable moment, which God presents to me, of 
doing good to those who are thus changed, from 
simple love to their souls, and to my dear Saviour, 
whose example I would imitate. I think I do pos- 
sess something of this blessed spirit. But I have 
not, of late, experienced so much annihilation of 



334 



MEMOIRS OF 



self, and felt so much as if God and his cause were 
all to me, as I think I have at some former periods. 
Oh, to pass through this world, as one whose hopes 
are on high; and, whatever subordinate objects I 
may lawfully desire, to have something better, some- 
thing higher, something independent of all these 
things, — that something which every saint in heaven 
has, in whom the doing the will, and contempla- 
ting the perfections, and promoting the glory of 
Jehovah, enkindle a holy happiness, of which the 
heart of man, in this lower world, cannot conceive! 
But a measure of it may be attained. And I pray 
God, not to let me find any rest in this world, which 
shall hinder me from resting in him. There cast I 
the anchor of my hope. Witness all Heaven! I 
would renounce every thing which vi^ould unsettle 
me from this hold. Amen, and amen. 



TO A FRIEND AT N. 

Boston, November 3, 1822. 

There is scarcely any thing more affecting, or 
more calculated to inspire sympathy, than to behold 
a mind, evidently imbued with Christian feelings 
and influenced by Christian principles, struggling, 
and suffering, and sinking, under the pressure of 
mental despondency. We must all feel that we are 
not our own keepers, that we are fearfully and won- 
derfully made, and that the causes which aflect the 
animal spirits, are so subtle in their nature, and so 
complicated in their connexions, as to baffle the 
utmost stretch of human sagacity fully to understand 
them. This consideration ought to make us con- 
stantly humble, and excite us to more vigorous act- 
ings of faith upon Him who knoweth our frame, and 
is able to keep, or deliver, us from temptation. 
My dear husband used to say, that he believed 'it 
was best for some Christians to be under a cloud, 
and that they grew in grace faster than they would in 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 335 

other circumstances.' But it is a great privilege to 
go forward, in our pilgrimage through this world, 
under the clear shining of the Sun of righteousness. 
God's dealings with his people are very various; and 
it seems to me a great mistake, to suppose that those 
are always the best Christians who have the most 
comfort. The natural effect of a close walk with 
God, however, is, unless it be prevented by some 
counteracting cause, joy, and peace, and the full 
assurance of hope unto the end. 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. L. 

Boston, November 10, 1822. 

The depression of spirits of which you speak, 
may, there is no doubt, be, in most cases, traced 
immediately to some cause connected with that del- 
icate and subtle part of our constitution, called the 
nervous system; but, primarily, it is from God. 
I do believe, that such a trial of ourselves, such an 
unsettling of all our strong holds, such a lesson of 
our extreme weakness and helplesness and poverty, 
is often attended with the most beneficial effects. It 
is indeed like being laid in the furnace; and we are 
ready to fear we shall be utterly consumed. Yet, 
our gracious God designs only to consume the dross. 
We are naturally inclined to indulge a spirit of pride 
and independence. Our mountain stands strong, 
and we think we shall never be moved. This unholy 
tendency of our nature must be checked. We can 
grow in grace, no farther than we learn to draw all 
our supplies from the Lord Jesus Christ. It is of 
His fullness that we must receive grace for grace. 
And how shall we be made to learn this? Why, by 
learning that we are poor, and weak, and blind, and 
naked; dependent on God, not only for the bounties 
of his grace and providence, but for every capacity 
necessary to our enjoyment or improvement of them. 
And how can we learn this better, than by being, 



336 



MEMOIRS OF 



for a seasonj left of God to our own darkness and 
helplesness? Who can so well know the blessed- 
ness of that hope which is an anchor to the soul, as 
the man who has felt hmiself in imminent hazard of 
being shipwrecked on the ocean of despair? Who 
can feel so deeply as he, the unfathomable riches of 
the grace which has redeemed him? Who can so 
fully understand the force of those infinite obliga- 
tions, which bind him to be wholly the Lord's? It 
is, I think, a settled point, that whatever promotes 
our growth in grace is best for us. And I suppose 
w^e grow in grace, just in proportion as we live 
simply on Christ. Therefore, whatever most effect- 
ually humbles us, and keeps up in our souls a prac- 
tical conviction of our constant dependence on him, 
is best for us, though the means may be of such a 
kind as, in our imperfect apprehension, may threaten 
us with destruction. 



TO A FRIEND AT A. 

Boston, November \1, 1822. 

We are, T think, in danger of being deficient in 
patience, to bear, as we ought, with the faults of our 
children. 'What! no better? And this, after I have 
laboured so long, and so painfully?' We forget that 
temptation and constitutional sins are often too much 
for ourselves, though our minds, we hope, are forti- 
fied by Christian principle, to the influence of which 
our children are yet strangers. We, in fact, expect 
our little ones to exhibit a fauitlesness which we 
are far from exhibiting. We have not patiance to 
wait for God to do his work in his own time and 
Vv^ay. We want the labours, and the watchings, and 
the mournings, and the disappointments, which at- 
tend maternal diligence, ended now, — to have our 
children made, without delay, by the immediate 
agency of the Spirit of God, just what we desire. 
And so we ought. But this desire should not be so 
inordinate, as to prevent our labouring without faint- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 337 

iiig, though God is pleased to withhold the blessing 
till the season of labour is over. ''The seed may- 
spring up," as one says, ''after the hand that planted 
it, and the eye that watered it, are at rest in the 
grave." I have been greatly pleased with the ex- 
tracts from the Pastoral Address of the General 
Association of Connecticut, on the religious education 
of baptized children, published in some of the late 
numbers of the Recorder. When we see our 
churches acting on the principles there recommend- 
ed, we may hope for something better than we have 
ever yet seen; the children of the Church will indeed 
be a seed to serve the Lord. 

I am reading an excellent work, Owen on Com- 
munion with God. It is full of sweet thoughts; and. 
though the style and method are sometimes rather 
obscure, it seems to give one a deeper insight into 
this delightful subject than any thing I have ever 
read. Owen usually went to the bottom in pursuing 
his religious investigations. It appears to me that a 
thorough acqaintance with one such work as this, 
would do more towards strengthening the intellect, 
and giving a proper direction and balance to the 
religious feelings, than running over the contents of 
our Magazines, &c., for a year. I was much inter- 
ested, however, (for I do not mean to speak against 
Magazines, but to keep them in their proper place,) 
in a piece in the last Christian Spectator on the 
present literary and religious taste of the Christian 
.world. The writer thinks the Waverly Novels are 
having a deteriorating influence on the reading of 
Christians; introducing among them a class of books 
which has generally been considered inadmissible, 
and thus breaking down, in this respect, the bounda- 
ry between the Church and the world. ^ There is, 
unquestionably, much truth in these remarks. These 
novels, that is the very few I have seen, if they are 

*See Christian Spectator, Vol. iv. p. 561. Some judicious remarks 
on the same subject may also be seen in Vol. vii. p. 80. 

29 



383 



MEMOIRS OF 



distinguished by the absence of what is impure and 
disgusting, if the scenes they describe are not marked 
by all the extravagances of the old romance, if they 
do exhibit some masterly touches of character, are, 
notwithstanding, far from being calculated to exert 
an influence on the reader favourable, on the whole, 
to his mental and moral improvement. At least it 
appears so to me. 

December I, I have prevailingly felt more wean- 
edness from the world, and more singleness of heart 
toward God, for the last two months, than for some 
time before. I seem to be desiring and looking for 
nothing, comparatively, but to stand in my lot, and 
be faithful in it, till my redemption is accomplished. 
I have, indeed, been a good deal troubled about tem- 
poral things. So foolish am I, and ignorant. Yet 
there have been granted me some sweet manifesta- 
tions from Him who is the light and life, the rock and 
refuge, of my soul, w^hich have made me ashamed of 
myself, and filled me with hope and joy. 

TO A FRIEND IN A. 

Boston, December %y 1822, 

It is a settled principle with me, never to doubt 
the love of old friends, unless I have some evidence 
which compels me to do so. And in your case, my 
dear E,, it would require something far more une- 
quivocal than a silence much longer than the last. 
Writing, however, like almost every thing else, be- 
comes pleasant or painful, by habit. And, though 
married ladies should never neglect more necessary 
duties for it, and, of course, cannot be expected to 
practice it as much as others, I think they should 
exert themselves not to neglect it altogether. It is 
an innocent source of enjoyment. It has a tenden- 
cy, moreover, to turn off the current of the thoughts 
and affections from the usual track, which is an ad- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 339 

vantage, as there can be no doubt that a happy do- 
mestic connexion is liable to become the occasion of 
an exclusiveness of interest and affectionj very unfa- 
vourable to the expansion of the intellectual pov/ers, 
and of the benevolent feeUngs. 

Never, my beloved friend, apologise for speaking 
so much to me of your children. What subject can 
be so interesting to a parent? And whatever relates 
to your little ones, is peculiarly a matter of interest 
to me. You ask my opinion, and I give it, because 
I love you and them. But I daily feel the need of 
being instructed myself. 

In regard to visiting^ I have considered it, espe- 
cially at an early age, a great disadvantage. Noth- 
ing can be done in managing children without reg- 
ularity. Habits are of the utmost importance; and 
it is impossible to estabHsh habits, (unless they be 
bad ones, which will form and strengthen in any 
circumstances,) if children are much from home. 
There are few persons who will regulate your child, 
in any particular as you would yourself. The 
best w^ill not be as w^atchful what impressions she 
receives, what dispositions she manifests, and what 
liberties she takes. Nor is this alL It is scarcely 
possible, if she visits much, to prevent her being 
under an influence, in some respects and in a greater 
or less degree, adverse to much that you may do for 
her at home, Vanity will be flattered, or selfishness 
strengthened, or impatience and perverseness indulg- 
ed. — As children grow older, I think it is an advan- 
tage for them to visit occasionally. It improves 
their manners, and gives them the habit of depending 
a little on themselves. You perceive I refer to their 
visiting without their parents. There is more difRcul- 
culty in making children contented at home, if they 
form a taste for going abroad; the formation of such 
a taste should, therefore, be avoided. Has not E. a 
little sister large enough to play with.^ I like a ba- 
by house for little girls; all that some sensible people 



340 



MEMOIRS OF 



have said to the contrary, notwithstanding. Ther 
may have a closet, or part of one, entirely to them- 
selves, and the arrangement and order of it be en- 
trusted to their care. If they are required to keep 
it tidy and neat, it will be employment and amuse- 
ment for them. As soon as children are old enough 
to understand what they read, the difficulty of amus- 
ing them lessens. And I think it is desirable to ac- 
custom them, as soon as may be, to assist in doing 
what they can, that they may learn the pleasure of 
being useful. To fold up the baby's cradle clothes, 
or pick up the threads on the carpet, or any thing 
else, however trivial, is something important for a 
child to do, if it inspires the love of industry, and 
makes her experience the happiness of doing good« 

TO A FPtlENB IN B 

Boston, December 5, 1822. 

You my dear H., have had the other w^orld brought 
near to you by sickness. How did it seem"? I have 
had it brought near to me by affliction; and the 
thought of being with Christ is, generally, very re- 
freshing to me. But you know the constitutional ti- 
midity of my nature. This causes me, sometimes, 
to fear, that, in that avvful hour in which I shall be 
called to enter the dark valley, the weakness of my 
faith, or the overwhelming remembrance of past 
transgression, or the temptations of the accuser of the 
brethren, or all these together, may prevail to un- 
settle my hold on Christ, the only bulwark against 
perdition, and plunge me into a darkness which may 
be felt. I have a mind much disposed to this. When 
faith is not in exercise now, all seems to be gone. In 
severe sickness, I should think, there would often be 
such a depression of all the faculties, as to prevent 
their being distinctly, if not to prevent their being 
rationally, exercised upon any subject. A naked 
trust in the Saviour of sinners would then be indis- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 341 

pensible. Nothing else, surely, could uphold the 
spirit in her passage through these deep waters. 

TO A FKTEND IN ANDOAER. 

Boston, January 5^ 1823. 

Thank you. my dear — , for your note, and for 
the pleasing intelligence that several of the students 
in the Academy, appear to be deeply impressed with 
the reality and importance of eternal things. That 
God is striving with them by his Spirit, is cause for 
abundant gratitude and thanksgiving. That the anx- 
iety thus produced may wear away without a change 
of character, is a consideration furnishing strong- 
reason why that gratitude and thanksgiving should 
be mingled w^ith deep humiliation and godly fear. 
Yet, blessed be God, such impressions, though not 
immediately issuing in conversion, often repeated, 
while the process of God's mercy in preparing the 
heart for his effectual calling is gradually going for- 
ward, is, I believe, a frequent mode in which the 
divine mercy is manifested and extended, especially 
to the children of believers. But when this is not 
the case, such impressions generally leave tJiem 
harder and worse than they do other persons, on ac- 
count of the greater light resisted. 

As to my dear boy, I think the Lord knovv^s that I 
have given him to Him. If I have ever performed 
any religious duty, I have done this; making no con- 
ditions as to circumstances, ways, means, services, 
or any of these things. My prevailing belief, and my 
comforting expectation is, that God, who has himself 
put these desires into my heart, will accept of what 
he has enabled and constrained me to do. As to 
desert, when I cast my eyes there, all is darkness and 
hopelesness. But "the gift of God is eternal life" 
to all who will accept it; and this free gift, which is 
offered, not only without recompense, but against 
unmingled ill-desert, this gift I think I have taken as 
29* 



342 BIEMOIRS OF 

my portion, and the portion of mine, forever, above, 
and so far as God pleases, against, every thing 
beside. 

Of the pleasing state of things here, in a religious 
point of viev^, you have, doubtless, heard. The 
Lord does seem, indeed, to be about to revive his 
work. The number of inquirers in our society has 
very much increased, and many of them appear to 
be deeply in earnest in seeking the salvation of their 
souls. There is also, more than usual attention to 
religion in the Park Street, and Essex Street, con- 
gregations. Meetings are highly interesting, — un- 
usually full and solemn. Many, especially of the 
young, are turning their faces towards Zion. Re- 
joice v/ith us, and pray for us. 

TO HER SON AT ANDOVER. 

Boston, Jamiciry 13, 1823. 

My dear J. The imagination that religion will 
make them unhappy, is one of the most common, and 
one of the most successful, temptations which the 
adversary of souls employs with people, especially 
with the young, to induce them to delay, and delay, 
the business of attending to their salvation, till it is 
too late to attend to it at all. One of the first re- 
ligious exercises I remember, (I was not more than 
three years old,) was a solemn consultation in my 
mind, whether it was best to become a Christian 
then or not. If I did not, I thought, I was in a dan- 
gerous state. But then if I did,— why, I should 
never have any more comfort in this world. I must 
never laugh, never play, never enjoy myself; but be 
always solemn, and dull, and gloomy. The result 
was, that I concluded it not best to be a Christian 
yet.' But, blessed be God! he pursued me with his 
grace, as I humbly hope, so that I found there could 
be no happiness, no comfort, while God and I were 
enemies. He broke up the enchantment of Satan, 
and showed me, that these dreams, and plans ot 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTOX. 34 



o 



earthly delight, were all false and fatal, and held up 
to me by the enemy of my soul to cheat me to per- 
dition. 

What pleasures will religion deprive you of, my 
son? May you not play just as innocently, and 
Avith more satisfaction, with religion, than without 
it? Depend upon it, rehgion will not debar you 
from any reasonable and lawful pleasure. All that 
it forbids you is sin. x\nd do you wish for a license 
to sin comfortably? God forbid. Every Christian 
will tell you, that the law of God, which it is his 
delight to obey, leaves open to him the enjoyment 
of all those innocent comforts, connected with our 
Situation in this world, as men, which his own mercy 
has so amply provided for us; and provided, that 
they may be used. You have known me long, my 
J., and been more capable of observing me since 
your dear father's death. Does religion deprive me 
of any pleasures'? Does it diminish my enjoyment.^ 
No; my dear child. To the honour and glory of my 
blessed Lord, let me tell you, it was this which held 
up my soul, when passing through the deep w^aters, 
where there was no standing; which enabled me to 
rejoice in God, and to feel that, although my earthly 
prospects were shrouded m darkness, all was safe, 
all was well; which has enabled m.e, sometimes to 
feel, that, though the whole creation were shivered 
to atoms, and mingled together in one universal 
wreck, I should still find all to be safe and well. I have 
given you to God, and I do so every day. You 
must, my dear boy, be his servant; and you shall 
find his service perfect freedom. 

TO THE SA3IE. 

Boston, January IB, 1S23. 

My beloved child. You have scarcely been out 
of my mind to-day. I have had great sorrow, and 
continual heaviness of heart, lest the present season 



344 



MEMOIRS OF 



of special mercy to the Academy should pass away, 
and you remain out of Christ. I have had more 
earnest wresthngs of spirit for you of late, than ever 
before. God encourages me to wait upon him, with 
crying and many tears for you, my son. He en- 
courages me to desire great things, and to hope 
great things. Oh, that this may prove to you the 
accepted time, and the day of salvation! 

Do you ask me, what you must do. I answer, 
give yourself to Christ. Make a solemn resolution, 
to reject all offers of comfort which this world holds 
out to you, till you obtain evidence that you have 
done this. Resolve to take no rest, no peace, till 
you have given yourself to Christ. Depend upon it, 
he will receive you. He says, ''Him that cometh 
unto me, I will in no wise cast out." He will forgive 
you; he will wash away the pollutions and defile- 
ments of sin; he vAW make you a saint and a son. 

You are descended, my dear J., from a long line 
of ancestors, on both sides, who were pious, and 
have finished their course, and gone to their gracious 
reward. Your dear father early declared himself 
for Christ. Your unworthy mother was early, as she 
hopes, brought to devote herself to Christ. On 
which side will you be, that of God, or of Satan and 
the world? "Choose you, this day, whom you will 
serve." If the Lord is to be vour God, then follov/ 
him. If the world, — but no, I cannot make such a 
supposition. You are the Lord's. His vows are 
upon you. You must not go back. Turn your face 
full tov/ard Zion. Keep that light in view. Let 
your face be always towards heaven. In all your 
strugglings, struggle to get nearer and nearer to the 
gate of the heavenly city. Run, and you shall ob- 
tain. God help you to do so, and you are blessed 
forever. Amen, and amen. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 345 



TO A FRIEND IN W. 

Boston, January 19, 1823. 

To speak of one's children, is much the same 
thing as to speak of one's self; and to say, 'I have 
a sensible,' or -an amiable,' or 'an interesting child,' 
carries with it all the repulsiveness of self-commen- 
dation. There are, moreover, few persons, compar- 
atively, who have benevolence enough, to hear such 
a frank declaration of the virtuous dispositions and 
desires which vve are conscious of, or which we 
know to exist m our children, as circumstances may 
sometirnes perfectly justifyj without making a bad 
use of it. I have been grieved and shocked, at the 
exhibitions of character I have sometimes met with 
in regard to this thing. Perhaps the sentiments of 
the parent respecting her child, have been dexter- 
ously elicited, by a shew of affection and interest; 
and the remarks, made in humility and in confidence, 
have been the occasion of much ungenerous animad- 
version upon the character of the child, and oftener 
still on the management of the parent. If you have 
never seen any thing of this sort, you have been pe- 
culiarly fortunate. A judicious parent may see the 
faults of her own children, much more distinctly 
than she can possibly see those of other children. 
And to conclude that a parent does not, or cannot, 
see the faults of her child, because she does notspeak 
of them, is, to say the least, very bad reasoning. I 
suppose it is best, ordinarily, not to speak much of 
our own faults, or virtues, nor of the faults or vir- 
tues of our children, or our friends, unless some 
good is, on the whole, likely to result from it. 

As to the question you ask, respecting private in- 
struction, and attending school, I do not feel per- 
fectly qualified to answer you, as I have not had 
experience of both. I think, however, there are dis- 
advantages attending each method. There is cer- 



346 



MEMOIRS OF 



tainly great hazard in turning out an unformed and 
comparatively innocent young creature, to mingle 
with the indiscriminate mass of children who usually 
attend school. Every parent who has sent his chil- 
dren to school, must have perceived the alteration 
which appears in- them upon jfirst taking this step. 
At least, it must be very commcn. It is certain 
that, in itself, the influence of such a mixture must 
be bad, and this bad influence will be in proportion 
to the degree of immorality in the scholars. But 
then there are disadvantages in being educated at 
home. Unless the mother has uncommon health, 
the confinement it will occasion her, will be very in- 
jurious to her constitution; and unless her talent 
for government is peculiarly excellent, the perpetual 
recurrence of occasions in which it is necessary for 
her to exert authority, will be likely gradually to 
weaken the habit of obedience, and the sense of ob- 
ligation in the children. Children educated at home 
are apt to fall into desultory habits. The tedious- 
ness of study, unassisted and unenlivened by any 
excitement resulting from companionship, must be 
felt to be great. I suppose the mind expands, much 
in proportion to the degree in which it is acted upon 
by the objects about it, and the circumstances in 
which it is placed. If this be true, though the char- 
acter of a child nurtured by itself, may be more free 
from faults than that of another accustomed to asso- 
ciates, it may . also be less marked with strong and 
striking virtues. If there is not so much to censure, 
there may be less to approve. Upon the whole, 
much depends upon the character of the child, and 
very much upon the character of the school to which 
it is proposed to send him. I have no doubt that 
some children do a great deal better to attend a good 
school than they would to be instructed at home. 



ivms. SUSAN HUNTINGTON, 347 

TO MRS. S, AT BRIDGEWATER. 

Boston, February 23, 1823. 

My dear Mrs. S. I wish I was where I could look 
in upon you a few moments^ as I did last summer. 
Your pleasant chamber, and its lonely and sorrow- 
ful occupant, are not forgotten. Lonely and sor- 
rowful, I know you must be. A summer's sun has 
long since dried the green sod which covers the 
grave of Mary, and a winter's snows have been set- 
ling on and hiding the place where she sleeps; but 
your tears are not dried, your grief cannot be sup- 
pressed. Alas! I know it is so; and the gloomy and 
desolate face of nature at this season, speaks, in lan- 
guage which goes to your very soul, of all you have 
loved, and have lost. Miserable indeed are human 
comforters. I cannot tell you not to mourn. I 
cannot tell you, your loss is common; for where will 
you find another daughter, another Mary, till you 
meet her in heaven? She was, in a sense, your all; 
and she is not, for God hath taken her. 

Perhaps to write in this strain, is not wise. If it 
has given you pain, forgive me. Yet there is some- 
thing in this train of thought that is pleasing. If it 
occasions grief, it seems like "the joy of grief." 
The heart, sometimes, loves to give itself up to a 
sense of its own desolation; and, while it dwells on 
the remembrance of what it once so tenderly loved^ 
cherishes every fond recollection, and desires to 
cherish it forever. If our friends are not here, 
where are they? If in all this wide world we shall 
never meet again, if we cast our look forward, and 
behold nothing but the fearful chasm, we shudder 
to contemplate, — the chasm opened by the loss of 
these dear ones, and opened never to be filled, is all 
lost? No, they are not lost, but only taken over 
into the world of spirits a little before us. We are 
on the threshold. A few more summers and win- 



348 MEMOIRS OF 

ters, perhaps a few more months or days only, and 
we shall follow them. The great concern then is, 
to be faithful. We must not expect heaven here. 
Our great business in this world is, to do and suffer 
all our Lord's will, as good and loyal subjects, as 
loving and obedient children. Rest is no where 
promised on earth. "Be thou faithful unto death 
and I will give thee a crown of life." "The pre- 
sumptuous," says one, "expect great success here, 
and heaven hereafter." 

TO A FRIEND IN B. 

Boston, February 26, 1823= 

I might tell you much about my own stupidity. 
In general, however, these complaints are not useful. 
As there is neither merit nor humility in being in a 
dead, carnal state, there certainly can be none in 
our saying we are in such a state. Neither does our 
talking about our barrenness, &c., make us any bet- 
ter. And I have sometimes thought, we encourage 
each other in a feeble and stinted growth in grace, by 
a mutual disclosure of sins and short-comings, which 
leaves the impression that we are pretty much like 
other Christians. Bold and forward professions are 
always suspicious; yet, in ordinary cases, if the 
Christian is in the lively exercise of grace, he will 
be likely to have the peace and comfort of such a 
state, and such an humble conviction^ resulting from 
tried evidence, that he actually is in that state, as 
will remove distressing doubt. 

Sin always clouds our evidences. It must be so. 
But it is not sin felt and resisted, but sin trifled with, 
sin allowed, encouraged, that spreads the gloom of 
spiritual despondency over our souls. There are 
those who have no experimental knowledge of the 
evil of sin, or of its existence in their hearts, and yet 
think they are Christians. These may habitually 
have an assurance of hope. But how utterly worth- 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 349 

less is it? Yet, I believe there is an humble "quiet- 
ness and assurance" which rests on another founda- 
tion; — which, while it is accompanied with the 
deepest sense of sin, is able to appeal to God, that 
all sin is hated and resisted; and which looks away 
to Him, whose blood cleanseth, with full confidence 
in his mercy. 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. Y. 

Boston, March 9, 1823. 

Acute pain, I have often thought, occasions less 
prostration of mind, than extreme weakness without 
much pain. In the one case, suffering seems to 
rouse the mind to action, — the action felt to be ne- 
cessary to meet a positive and distinctly apprehended 
evil; in the other, the mind seems left without ex- 
citements, to sink into a listlesness bordering upon 
inanity. There is great resignation in being willing, 
from a regard to the will of God which has made it 
necessary, to feel ourselves good for nothing, with- 
out even that sense of heroism, which sometimes 
attends what we consider suffering with magnan- 
imity. And, whatever the world may think of it, 
this humble, quiet, child-like willingness to submit 
ourselves entirely to the will of God, to feel that we 
are poor, and weak, and worthless, and not worthy 
of the Master's use, is a grace of the highest price 
in the eyes of Him who seeth not as man seeth. 

The animal spirits are very apt to sink when the 
body has been long enfeebled. And then the soul 
is apt to get into darkness, because the spirits have 
sunk. It is commonly regarded as an unfavourable 
sign, when sickness renders the soul less comforta- 
ble. But the natural effect of sickness is, certainiv, 
to depress the feelings; and in this there is no moral 
evil. It is the necessary consequence of the connex- 
ion which exists between our bodies and souls. God 
does indeed, bv the special communications of his 
30 



350 



MEMOIRS OP 



grace, often, perhaps usually, in the case of his chil- 
dren, counteract this tendency; but not always. No 
doubt he sometimes sees it best for the Christian, 
and absolutely necessary to his self-acquaintance and 
effectual humiliation, to leave him without the com- 
forting influences of his grace, and the sweet con- 
sciousness of his love, which would cause him to 
rejoice in the midst of sorrow. But the Lord, cer- 
tainly, knows best what to do with us; and it is the 
office of faith to trust him at all times, — to trust him 
when our frame is languid and our comforts few, as 
well as when our health is vigorous, and our conso- 
lations abound. Nothing should hinder our trust- 
ing in him., and hoping in his mercy. Faith has 
respect to Christ as the only ground of our accept- 
ance with God, and, so far as it is in exercise, looks 
away from all that is in the soul, or ever has been, 
or ever can be, as having any thing to do, as a mer- 
itorious cause, in the matter of justification. Does 
Satan plead against us — sin, and darkness, and doubt, 
backsliding, rebellion, and treachery to our own 
souls? Faith answers. True, all true: I am a sin- 
ner, and on this broad ground, I am warranted to go 
to that Saviour who died for sinners, and who has 
said, "Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends 
of the earth." 

TO HER SON AT ANDOVER, 

Boston, March 9, 1823. 

Young people are apt to imbibe wrong notions on 
religious subjects. For instance, if there is not as 
much attention to religion in the Academy now, as 
there was last term, perhaps you may be thinking 
you are not as pressingly obligated to seek the sal- 
vation of your soul now, as then. This is wrong. 
What difference can it make in your duty, whether 
any other person is seeking Christ or not? What is 
that to you? Are you not bound to love God, and 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 351 

yield yourself to his service? Is not this the end for 
which you were created? Would it cease to be your 
duty, if m all this wide world you could not find 
one solitary Christian? Certainly not. It is there- 
fore, as urgent a duty, for you to give yourself to 
God this term, as it was the last: yea, it is even 
more urgent than it was then. 

Since I began this letter. Mi*. D. has called, and 
communicated to me the affecting intelligence of the 
death of Mrs. C* But who could wish her back in 
this world of sin and sorrow, if her work was fin- 
ished, and she has gone to Him, who went to heaven, 
after he had finished his work, to prepare places for 
all who love him? This is another solemn call to 
you, my son. Listen to the still small voice, which 
speaks to you from the world of spirits, 'Be thou 
also ready.' Look at the grave of her who was so 
lately with you; and remember, you must soon fol- 
low. Think of your father, cut off in the very midst 
of his days. Think of that sweet, sweet brother: 
how like a flower he sprung up, and put forth the 
early blossoms of beauty and intelligence; alas! 
soon to be withered, and smitten by the hand of 
death. Beloved child! removed, as I humbly trust, 
from this rough and dangerous world, to a state of 
eternal safety, before bitter experience had taught 
him his danger or his weakness! Think of them, my 
J., — and let the thought inspire you with a holy 
resolution, to set your feet on every obstacle which 
lies in your way to the heaven whither they have 
gone. Think of them^ — and rouse yourself up to 
be a diligent and faithful follower of those who, 
through faith and patience, have inherited the prom- 
ises. Yes, my beloved child, I hope to meet you in 
heaven. Were it not for this hope, my days would 
be bitter and comfortless days, and I should soon go 
down to the grave in sorrow. 

The lady with v/hom Mrs. Huntington's son boarded. 



^^"^ MEMOIRS OF 



TO THE SAME, 

Boston, March 23, 1823, 

I wish you to cultivate feelings of kindness to- 
ward your schoolmates. Be not over vigilant to 
detect the shades and weaknesses in their characters. 
All are imperfect; and you should extend to others 
the same forbearance you expect from them. Sin, 
I never wish you to palliate, or excuse, either in 
yourself, or in others. Yet there are little vexatious 
qualities in some people, which, though not, per- 
haps, positively sinful, are very uncomfortable and 
troublesome to those who come in contact with 
them. These little things you should try to overlook. 
And you should not judge too severely those who 
do things, sometimes, which are really wrong. If 
the settled habits of a boy are wrong, I desire you 
not to excuse his faults. But you may still entertain 
feelings of benevolence towards him. Remember 
that others have much to overlook in you. Be kind, 
be obliging, be forgiving, even as you hope for for- 
giveness from God. But when urged to do what 
you know to be wrong, be firm, resolute, decided. 
While you choose only the best boys for your com- 
panions, labour after the exercise of those Christian 
feelings which shall cause you to wish well to the 
worst. 

The account you give me of , and some 

others, is very painful. But it has always been so. 
There will be stony-ground hearers, and other 
hearers, upon Vvhom the people of God bestow la- 
bour in vain. Yet this no more proves that all are 
unfruitful, than a cloudy day proves that there is no 
sun. Oh, it is heart-rending to see poor sinners 
turning back to this world, which is passing away, 
and will soon be destroyed, after they have appeared 
to set out in earnest to seek something better! My 
dear J., I earnestly long to have you become a 
Christian indeed. God calls to you. '^My son, give 
me thine heart " Will you, oh, will you not comply? 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 353 

TO A FRIEND AT M. 

Boston, April 27, 1823. 

Dx, preached for us to-day, from Rom. v, 1. 

''Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace 
with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ." 1. What 
is meant by being justified. 2. How the sinner can 
be justified. 3. The nature of the faith which jus- 
tifies. 4. The evidences of being justified. His 
exhortations and appeals at the close of his sermon, 
especially to those who are expecting to be justified 
in some way diiferent from that which God has ap- 
pointed, were convincing and powerful. Yet some 
are offended at this plain dealing! This is, however, 
to be expected. The peculiarities of the Gospel 
will be met, with all the opposition, and all the ob- 
jections, of inveterate aversion and determined hos- 
tility from the men of the world. The oftence of 
the cross, were the doctrines of the cross more fully 
insisted on, would appear to be no mere dream of 
the enthusiast. But any thing is better than death, 
and to see people offended at the tj^iith, is less dis- 
couraging than to see them, under its faithful exhi- 
bition, feel nothing at all. The dismal quietness of 
spiritual slumber must be broken. People must be 
convinced that the peace they have so long and so 
complacently rested in, is the peace of ignorance, of 
apathy, and of destructive indifference to every thing 
peculiarly Christian. And I do believe that a work 
of grace is begun liere, the blessed effects of which 
will be felt to future generations. God is in the 
midst of us, and I feel confident that the sun of a 
better day is dawning upon us. Can we not, my 
dear friend, both say, 'Amen: come. Lord Jesus, 
come quickly? Though others may regard all this 
as weakness and folly, we hail the coming of thy 
kingdom as an event more illustrious than the march 
of earthly conquerors; as an event, whose effects, in 



354 



BIEMOIRS OF 



greatness and glory, will soon cause all that is 
splendid, and all that is imposing, in the records of 
human might, to go out in total darkness^' 

The world has a standard of its own in determine 
mg the merit and the worth of things. But it is a 
false standard; a standard which the Bible meets at 
every turn, with unvarying and unyielding condem- 
nation. Now, to live in this world, and to keep up 
tolerable appearances with the world, and yet hold 
up, constantly, a standard directly opposite to theirs, 
and one v/hich they regard as contemptible, is very 
difficult. We can see, indeed, how it happens that 
they view things just as they do. Perhaps we re- 
member the time when it was so with us. This .. 
ought to be enough for us, that we know they are in 
the wrong. But it is hard to be despised. And this 
makes one of the striking peculiarities of the Gospel. 
"Whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after 
me, cannot be my disciple." Yet, on the other 
hand, no Christian ever gains any thing by making 
unchristian concessions to the world. He cannot go 
all lengths with it, if he is a Christian; and the state 
of vascillation, which keeps one vibrating between 
both worlds, is always distressing and contemptible* 
There is common sense enough in the world to make 
it respect consistency, even though that consistency 
is maintained against it. And, my friend, the only 
way of entering into rest is, to believe all that God 
has revealed, and regulate all our desires and actions 
by our belief. The stronger our faith, the more we 
are advanced in the knowledge of spiritual things, 
the less we shall be troubled at the little crosses and 
mortifications our adherence to our Master costs us. 
The more we learn to look away from the things 
seen and temporal, to those which are not seen and 
eternal, the happier we shall be, partly because we 
shall be less affected by human opinion. It is 
melancholy to think how little any of us, honour 
God. '«Man's chief end is to glorify God." This 



r 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 355 

is the business of the angels; and it should be our 
business as much as theirs. It is an excellent, an 
ennobling thing to be thus employed. And if we 
are Christians, we shall mourn much over our own 
sins, and over the sins of God's people, because they 
duhonour him. 



TO A FRIEND AT B. 

Bosicn, May IS, 1823. 

I felt disappointed at not seeing you again when 
m town, my dear H.; but could not. My residence 
is so far from the centre of the city, that the neces- 
sary business I have to do there, takes so much time, 
that I am obliged to make fewer calls than would be 
agreeable to me. Besides, my engagements have 
been unusually numerous this spring. Almost since 
the commencement of the precious revival with 
which heaven is blessing us, the female members of 
our church in my neighbourhood, have had a prayer 
meeting of half an hour, three times a week, at each 
other's houses. Besides this the neighbourhood 
meeting, for this quarter of the city, which, you 
know, is intended chiefly for those who are not pro- 
fessors, has, since its establishment, been held every 
third time at my house. These meetings I have felt 
it my duty generally to attend, — the prayer meetings 
always, when it was in my power. Not that I think 
the habit of attending many extra meetings correct, 
as a general thing. But there are special seasons, 
which call for special exertions, on the part of minis- 
ters, and of private Christians. Such a season we 
have been, for some time, and are still, favoured 
with. There are those, moreover, (and of these, in 
my present circumstances, I consider myself one,) 
whose comparative exemption from domestic respon- 
sibilities, lays them under obligations to the public, 
which they ought to understand and discharge. 
Every Christian ought to do something. To lie by 



356 MEMOIRS OF 

as drones, is a sad, a wicked thing. Yet no one 
Christian is called to do every thing. God seems 
sometimes to assign to us our portion of employment^ 
and point out to us the place of labour. Indeed he 
always does this, if we had wisdom and faith to see 
it; but in some cases the sphere appears rather less 
of our own choosing than in others. For instance, a 
mother, whom God has set over a family, to whom 
she must be faithful as one who is to give account; 
if her family is large, and her assistance small, and 
her health not vigorous, who would undertake to 
say that she should leave this sphere which God has 
assigned her, to labour in some otherl. And it ap- 
pears to me that we lose by attempting too much. 
No one should undertake to do more than he can do 
well. The hurry and confusion of mind which re- 
sult from imperfectly carrying on a great many dif- 
ferent plans^ all good plans perhaps, is a state greatly 
to be dreaded. To feel in such a hurry and tumult, 
as not to be able to pray in the closet without dis- 
traction, is dreadful. And such a state is entirely 
blame-worthy, let the causes which produced it be 
what they may. It is a happy thing w^hen we are 
w^illing to do all we can, and when we are able to 
determine accurately how much we can do. 

TO HER SON, AT AND0V.ER. 

Bost07i, June 8, 1823. 

My anxieties about you, my dear J,, are very great, 
I wish to have you in earnest in the pursuit of human 
science; but I am, above all, solicitous to have you 
in earnest in the pursuit of holiness, without which 
human science will soon be found to be as a sounding- 
brass and a tinkling cymbaL Let it be your first, 
your great concern, to be a Christian. I hope you 
will choose those boys for your associates who are 
most serious. I wish you regularly and punctually 
to attend the Bible Class, and to be careful to be 



MRS. SUSAlf HUNTINGTON. 357 

always well prepared for the exercise, and to remem- 
ber the instructions you there receive. Daily read 
your Bible in your retirement, with seriousness and 
attention, to see what God says to you; and pray for 
his grace to help you to understand and feel its pre- 
cious truths. Never neglect secret prayer. You 
cannot expect to be kept from sin and temptation 
without the help of God- You are weak and de- 
praved, and in a world of tempation and danger. 
Your only hope is in His arm who is able to save 
you even to the uttermost. Be not slothful in 
business, but diligent in duty; for you are soon to 
stand before the judgment seat of Christ, and give 
an account for your talents, your time, your oppor- 
tunities for improvement, all your conduct, words, 
and thoughts. Oh, remember this, and live so 
that you may hope to hear the Judge say to you, 
'Come thou blessed of my Father, inherit the king- 
dom prepared for thee, from the foundation of the 
world.' 

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW, AT N. L. 

Boston, June 11, 1823. 

I am sorry, my dear sister, to hear that you are 
not well. My own health has been rather more 
feeble than usual this spring. A troublesome cough 
has been my companion longer than I like. We 
dwell in houses of clay; and the earthly house of our 
tabernacle is dissolving We have admonitions in 
every form, to be doing with our might the work 
assigned us. And it is a great work, to p^ epare our- 
selves, and do what we can to prepare others, for 
eternity. The opportunity of exerting a salutary 
influence on those about us, w^ill soon be over. Soon, 
very soon, it will be too late to labour and pray. 
The Lord help us to be faithful, as those who are 
speedily to give account 

Give my love to our dear mother. Tell her, I 
hope she has found shelter in His bosom who is a 



358 



MEMOIRS OF 



very present help in every time of trouble; that she 
is enabled to roll over her burdens on His arm, who 
chasteneth whom he loveth, and scourgeth every son 
whom he receivelh; thai she has found, by experi- 
ence, that the name of the Lord is a strong tower, 
into which she can run, and be safe. I do hope, my 
dear sister, thai the Lord Jesus has prepared places 
for us in a better world than this; and that when he 
Cometh, he will receive us to himself, according to 
his own vv^ord, ^'Father, I will that those whom thou 
hast given me be with me where I am, that they ma} 
behold my glory." Let us comfort one another with 
these words. 



TO HER SON, AT ANDOVER. 



Boston June 22; 1823. 

I have thought a great deal of you, my dear J.. 
since you left us at the commencement of the pres- 
ent term. You are removed from my immediate 
care, and your actions cannot now pass under my 
observation with the same minuteness which they 
used to do. I may, indeed, learn, in general, from 
others, what shape your character is taking; but all 
those various details of action — small, but unceas- 
ingly exhibited^ — which I used to watch so closely, 
can no longer be inspected by your mother. You 
now, much more than formerly, must act for your- 
self. Sometimes the thought that it is so, is extreme- 
ly painful to me. But then I reflect, that the only 
bulwark against temptation is the correctness and 
strength of your own principles; and I feel that I 
must pray for you, and leave you with God. The 
boy whose evil propensities are only held in by the 
reins of parental vigilance, will easily fall a prey to 
the snares of a treacherous world and a sagacious 
enemy, as soon as these salutary restraints are re- 
moved. You must be able yourself, my son, to dis- 
cern the difference between the right and the wrong^^ 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 359 

and you must have a heart to choose the former and 
refuse the latter, or your mother's prayers and m- 
structions will never save you. 

While I wish you, as I have often intimated, to be 
careful in forming friendships, becoming intimate 
with none but boys of unexceptionable character, I 
am equally desirous that you should avoid feeling 
that you are very good yourself. "To this man will 
I look," saith God, ''even to him who is of an hum- 
ble and contrite heart." God "resisteth the proud, 
but giveth grace to the humble." And I wish you 
not to speak of the faults of other boys unneces- 
sarily. This is very wrong. If they are not good, 
you need not be intimate with them; you ought not 
to be, because God commands you "not to go in 
the way of sinners." But this does not imply that 
you should talk about their failings. You should 
strive not to make enemies. If there is any temper 
which I love to see above all others, it is the hum- 
ble, lamb-like spirit which Jesus Christ possessed in 
perfection, and which his Gospel requires of all who 
would be his disciples. Take your place at his feet, 
my J., and learn of him, as Mary did. 

TO A FRIEND AT A. 

* Boston, Jiint 24, 1823, 

I write, just to inform you, that I think of going to 
Connecticut. I have had a bad cough, at intervals, 
all the spring. It is troublesome and obstinate. Dr. 

says I must change the air. He recommends 

going into the interiour, but thinks a visit to New- 
Haven, or New-London, would answer the purpose. 
When I shall set out, I am not able, at present, to 
inform you. I will v/rite you more definitely soon. 

TO MRS. S., AT NEW-LONDON. 

Boston, June 29, 1823. 

I wish I could look in upon you and your little 
charge this evening; I should then know, better 



360 MEMOIRS OF 

than I now do, how to address you. I will, how- 
ever, take it for granted that you are well, that the 
children are well, that your journey has been com- 
fortable, and that you are comparatively happy. 

You and I, my dear madam, have seen many 
changes, we have met witli many vicissitudes, every 
one of which the Lord chose out for us, in infinite 
%visdom and mercy, before the world was. And has 
he not helped us hitherto? Has he not always de- 
livered us from evil, or enabled us to bear it ? And 
is not his grace in times past, a pledge of future 
mercy9 

Upon the whole, my dear Mrs. S., I believe all 
that we want is more grace; a heart to rest in God; 
a heart to love his character, to love his will, to love 
his government. This would set all right. All that 
we have is his, — our own bod es and souls, our chil- 
dren, our possessions, our acquirements. Is it not 
so*? Are we Christians^ Anr are we grasping any 
darling object, and saying, 'All the rest, Lord, but 
not this; this! cannot part with^"" Oh, are we Chris- 
tians; and shall we do this? No, no. Let it be our 
glory, let it be our happiness, to give up all to god, 
and we shall be repaid a thousand fold.' 



The letter just read, was the last written by this 
excellent woman, previously to her being seized with 
the malady which terminated in her death. The 
cough, spoken of more than once in the preceding 
extracts, had continued without abatement. On 
Saturday, July 5th, she took an additional cold. 
In the evening of the succeeding Sabbath, her in- 
disposition assumed a more painful and alarming 
character. The change, and her feelings in relation 
to it, are thus described by herself in a postscript to 
the letter commenced June 29tb. "Since I wrote 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 361 

the above, my dear Mrs. S, my health has changed 
a good deal. You recollect my troublesome cough. 
Day before yesterday, I spit a little blood; and every 
day since, I have raised a little. A blister and a slight 
fever have reduced my strength; so that I feel that I 
am a frail, dying creature. 

Dr. is very anxious to get me from Boston. 

He hopes a change of air vi^ill benefit me. I hope 
so too, and think of Connecticut, if I can get there. 
But, oh, how lonely I feel! Whom shall I look to? 
But hush every word that looks like complaining. 
The Lord has written me, widow, and desolate; and 
he has done well. Oh, for a heart to bless him now, 
to bless him forever! I need strong faith. I cannot 
write much. You must all love and pray for me. 
But we all want love to and confidence in the bless- 
ed God, a thousand times more than any thing else." 

A second postscript to the same letter, written by 
another hand, and dated "Wednesday evening, July 
9th," is as follows, "Dear Madam. Thus far our 
beloved friend had written to you. She is now un- 
able to finish; and has requested me to do it, and to 
inform you of the particulars of her case. It is pain- 
ful indeed to know it, but you would consider it 
cruel to keep you in ignorance of it. Last evening, 
and but a short time after she had written the above, 
she w^as taken with raising blood, to a degree which 
alarmed us very much. The physician took nearly 
a pint of blood from the arm, and she was consider- 
ably relieved from the irritation on the lungs. 
Another blister has also been applied, and has drawn 
very well. The doctor thinks there is no immediate 
danger, and hopes she will recover. He wishes her 
to keep entirely quiet, and not to speak a word. She 
is very much exhausted, and the weather to-day has 
been oppressively warm. We hope that the means 
which are using, will be blessed of Him in whose 
hands is the breath of every one, and that this pre- 
31 



362 



MEMOIRS OP 



cious woman may long be continued to her chil- 
dren, her friends, the Church, and the world. Many 
fervent prayers are ascending for her; and she will 
not be forgotten by you and her other dear friends 
in Connecticut. She is in a very quiet and happy 
frame of mind, sweetly feeling that she is in the 
hands of her covenant God." 

These hopes in regard to her health were not re- 
alized. Every effort which skill and kindness could 
make, was made, for the removal of her complaint. 
Prayer was continually offered, by numerous and 
ardently attached Christian friends, for her restora- 
tion. But she continued gradually to decline. 

In the latter part of August, she was removed to 
the house of a friend in the country, about ten miles 
from Boston, with the hope that a change of air and 
scene might be beneficial. And, for a time, she was 
more comfortable than while in the city; but the 
progress of her disease was not interrupted. While 
here, she wrote two or three short notes to her chil- 
dren, none of whom were with her. The following 
extracts are from one to her son at Andover. 

September 19, 1825. 

"My beloved child. Though I am very feeble, I 
feel a great desire to write you a few lines. My love 
and anxiety for you, are greater than any but a pa- 
rent can know; and yet I tell you your faults. I want 
you to settle this truth in your mind for life, my J., 
that he is your best friend who takes the most pains to 
correct your errors. Beware of the person who tries 
to make you think well of yourself especially when 
your own conscience is not quite satisfied. 

20. Always love your sisters. Consider yourself 
as, in a sense, their protector and guardian. Write 
to them often: pray for them. You are likely to be 
left alone in a strange world. So have I beenj and 

Thus far the Lord h%th led me on; 



HRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 363 

SO that I have never lacked any good thing. The 
way has been boisterous sometimes, 

But Judah's Lion guards the way, 
And guides the travellers home. 

Make this friend yours. — But I must close. Love 
Mr. C, always love him. He is one of your best 
friends; and faithful friends are not very plenty in 
this treacherous world, my J. But, oh! that I could 
see you securing the friendship of your God. Re- 
member, his vows are upon you, and you cannot, 
must not, go back. Farewell, beloved child. The 
Lord be with you continually." 

About the close of the month of September, she 
desired the physician then attending her to inform 
her, definitely and frankly, whether there was, in 
his opinion, any prospect of her recovery. His an- 
swer was in the negative. She received itj with 
some feeling, but with submission, and thanked him 
for his kindness in being so explicit. 

On the third of October, she w^as removed again 
to her residence in Boston; and proceeded immedi- 
ately, to set her house in order, in preparation for 
death. She had an interview w^ith the gentleman 
who has since, in compliance with the request then 
made, been appointed guardian to her children. 
She saw, or wrote to, the friends who have kindly 
undertaken the charge of their education. The fol- 
lowing is an extract from one of her letters on this sub- 
ject, dated October 20, 1823. "My dear— How I 
have longed to see you. Your mother said you 
would be here, and I have expected it with great 
anxiety. She said you would take S. Will you be 
her mother] Will your husband be her father.^ 
Will you watch over this dear child? — Yes, you will, 
and I shall die easy on this point, God helps me to 
trust the promise, ''Leave thy fatherless children, 
I will preserve them." 



364 



MEMOIRS OF 



"My strength decays. I have scarcely any ap- 
petite. But my Saviour lays under me his everlast- 
ing arm; and I trust that all is well, and will be well 
forever. Pray that I may have his presence,^ and 
that I may glorify him to the end. Farewell, be- 
loved friend." 

During her illness, her pastor had frequent inter- 
views with her. She at one time, about a fortnight 
after the first bleeding from her lungs, had some 
doubts and fears in regard to the genuineness of her 
religious experience. Her apprehension was, that 
she might never have been truly humbled for sin. 
But the feelings which this apprehension excited, 
were of such a character as to furnish to others, 
the most satisfactory evidence of her piety; as 
they clearly evinced a deep and practical convic- 
tion, that, without the light of God's countenance, 
there can be no real happiness. The cloud was, 
however, soon dissipated; and, from that time till 
her death, she was favoured with uniform peace of 
mind. 

Her pastor, usually, when other engagements did 
not prevent, made brief minutes, upon returning 
home from visiting her, of the conversation during 
the interview. A few of these, as a specimen, will 
be here inserted. 

'•Tuesday, October 28, 1823. Called on Mrs. 
Huntington about half past nine in the morning. 
Found that she had failed considerably since my last 
visit. To an inquiry in relation to the state of her 
mind since Friday, she replied, '-I think I have felt 
more of the presence of Christ than I did when I 
saw you last. I have not had those strong views 
and joyful feelings, with which I have sometimes 
been favoured. My mind is weak, and I cannot di- 
rect and fix my thoughts as I once could. But I 
think I have fled for refuge to lay hold on the hope 
set before ine in the precious Gospel; and He, who 



:MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 365 

is the foundation of that hope, will never forsake 
me." Then, with a most interesting expression of 
countenance she said, ^-I trust we shall meet in 
heaven, and spend an eternity in praising our dear 
Redeemer." It was replied, '-We shall, if we give 
him our hearts, and continue faithful to him unto 
the end." "I feel," she answered, "that I have been 
very, very unfaithful. But he is merciful, his blood 
cleanseth from all sin, and I trust he has blotted my 
sins from the book of his remembrance. Oh, what 
should we do without Christ?" "As much debtors," 
it was remarked, "to free grace at the end of our 
course as when we begin it." "More," she replied, 
"far more; for we sin against greater light and love, 
after we are born again. Yes, it is all of free grace. 
If it vrere not, what would become of me9" It was 
answered, "You would have perished, justly per- 
ished; but now, when you enter heaven, you v.ill 
stand before the angels, a monument of God's jus- 
tice as well as of his free grace, for he is just in 
justifying those that believe in Jesus." "Yes," she 
replied; "what a glorious plan! what a precious Sa- 
viour! Oh, that I could love him more! Pray that I 
may love and glorify him forever." 

After prayer, she said, "I hope you pray for me at 
other times, as well as when you are here. Aslc 
for me the continual presence of Christ, and that I 
may honour his religion to the end." It was an- 
swered, "We constantly remember you in our pray- 
ers: many of God's people are deeply interested for 
you, and are continually supplicating the throne of 
grace in your behalf" "I know it," she replied; 
"and that is the reason why I have been favoured 
with such a comfortable state of mind, for Satan has 
desired to have me, and to sift me as wheat. I hope 
they will continue to pray for me; and may God 
bless them with the consolations they ask for me." 
It was remarked, "He who said to Peter, 'I have 
prayed for thee that thy faith fail not,' is, I trust, 

O 



^l^ 



366 



MEjVlOIRS OF 



continually interceding for you; and him the Father 
heareth always." She said, ''I hope he does inter- 
cede for me; and that is one of my greatest consola- 
tions; for he will be heard. But, you know, he 
presents the prayers of the saints; and I want the 
satisfaction of reflecting, that he is continually pre- 
senting many of them in behalf of me and my dear 
children." 

"On Friday October 31st, at nine o'clock At M. 
found her more comfortable than on Tuesday last. 
She said, "My mind has generally been in a peace- 
ful frame since I saw you. But I want to realize 
the presence and preciousness of Christ, more dis- 
tinctly and constantly than my great weakness per- 
mits me to do." Some remarks were made respect- 
ing the provisions of the Covenant of Grace as 
adapted to all our weaknesses. "The Bible," it was 
said, "tells us that, 'He knoweth our frame, he re- 
membereth that we are dust;' 'a bruised reed shall 
he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not 
quench;' 'We have not an High Priest which cannot 
be touched with the feeling of our infirmities, but 
was in all points tempted like as we are, yet with- 
out sin. Let us therefore, come boldly unto the 
throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and 
find grace to help in time of need.' " She said, 
"Glorious covenant! precious promises! I have given 
myself, soul and body, to Him in whom they are 
all yea and amen, and I do not fear. I desire to 
have him do with me as it shall please him." 

After prayer she said, "We have indeed a faithful 
God, a precious Saviour; but how^ limited our knowl- 
edge, how imperfect our views, of eternal things!'' 
It was replied, "What we know not now, we shall 
know hereafter. Soon, if we are Christians, w^e 
shall see face to face, and know even as we are 
known. And now, v/e know that when Christ shall 
appear, if we are the children of God, we shall be 
like him, for we shall see him as he is." "That," 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 367 

she said, ''is enough. How different will be our 
views! How^ differently shall we view sin! I seem 
never to have known what it is, till within the last 
few weeks. And now, I am convinced I know 
very little of its evil and hateful nature. How can 
we trifle with it as we do?" 

This day had been set apart by the church to 
which she belonged, as a season of fasting and prayer; 
the forenoon to be spent, as far as paramount duties 
would permit, in private devotion, and a meeting of 
the church to be held in the afternoon, and again in 
the evening. She alluded to the subject, expressing 
a hope that it might be a pleasant and profitable sea- 
son to the whole church, as pleasant and profitable 
as she had found the last church fast; and added, "I 
wish I could be with you." It was answered, "You 
can; we are going to the throne of grace, and you 
can be there also." She replied, ''I will try. May 
the Holy Spirit be in the midst of you, producing in 
every heart, godly sorrow for past unfaithfulness, 
and reviving the spirit of obedience and of effort to 
promote the work of the Lord!" 

She then inquired respecting the ''Ladies' Distrib- 
uting Bible Association," and the Female Associa- 
tions in connexion with the "Auxiliary Foreign 
Missionary Society of Boston and Vicinity," which 
had recently been formed in the city; and, upon re- 
ceiving some account of them, expressed her satis- 
faction in being permitted to hear of these new and 
systematic efforts to extend the Redeemer's king- 
dom. It was observed, "You see God's work on 
earth will go on, although you and other instru- 
ments are laid aside." She replied, "Oh, what have 
I been? Nothing. I have done nothing, compared 
with what I ought to have done. He needs no in- 
struments; it is infinite condescension in him to em- 
ploy them: and when he takes away those he has 
employed, he has no further use for them here. 1 



368 MEMOIRS OP 

am going, T hope, where I shall serve hhn better 
— without sin, and with all my powers, for ever." 

"Friday, November 7. To the usual inquiry 
respecting the state of her mind, she said, "Mrs. 
Graham accurately describes my feelings, when she 
says, 'Thus far has the Lord brought me through 
the wilderness; bearing, chastising, forgiving, re- 
storing. I am near to Jordan's flood. May my 
blessed High Priest, and Ark of the Covenant lead 
on my staggering steps the little further I have to 
go.'"^ I have had no rapturous views of the heaven 
to which I hope I am going, no longings to depart. 
But I have generally been enabled to feel a calm 
submission, and to reahze the fulness and the pre- 
ciousness of the Sayiour. I desire to feel perfect 
resignation to the will of God, because it is his will. 
O how sweet, to be willing to be just where, and 
just what, God pleases! to rejoice that the Lord God 
omnipotent reigneth, and worketh all things after 
the counsel of his own will. This, in its perfection, 
is, I think, a principal source of the happiness of 
heaven. Pray that God would enable me to feel 
thus while suffering from weakness and pain, and 
entering the dark valley." 



Frequently, during her sickness, she had express- 
ed to her pastor, a desire that he would, if possible, 
be with her in her last moments. On Thursday, 
December 4th, he was informed, about three o'clock 
in the afternoon, that she had failed greatly since 
morning, and would probably survive but a little 
longer. He immediately repaired to her residence, 
and found her, sleeping, but very restless, and breath- 
ing with great difficulty. She continued in this 
state, except that respiration became constantly 
more difficult, through the afternoon and evening. 

" See Life and 'Writings of Mrs. Isabella Graham; p. 161; third 
New-York editioa. 



MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON. 369 

About eleven o'clock the difficulty of breathing be- 
came so great, as to overcome the disposition to 
slumber. Intelligence, it was found, still remained. 
She was asked ''if she knew^ she was near her end.'* 
She answered, by a sign, in the affirmative. It was 
said, ''I hope you feel the presence of the Saviour 
sustaining and comforting you." She assented. 
''Your faith and hope in him are unshaken?" Her 
reply was in the affirmative. — A few^ minutes after, 
her sight failed; and, at twenty minutes past eleven, 
her spirit entered into rest. 

Her end was full of peace, 

Fitting her uniform piety serene. 

"Twas rather the deep humble calm of faith, 

Than her high triumph; and resembled more 

The unnoticed setting of a clear day's sun, 

Than his admired departure in a blaze 

Of glorv, bursting from a clouded course. 



SERMON. 



ROMANS viii, 28. 

ALL THINGS WORK TOGETHER FOR GOOD TO TFiiM THAT 

LOVE GOD. 

The method of instruction generally pursued in 
the Scriptures, concurs with what we know of the 
nature of the human mind, in evincing, that the 
way to inculcate, most effectually, the doctrines of 
religion, is to exhibit them in the form of living and 
palpable action. Every day's experience teaches, 
that the impression made on ihe mind, and the effect 
produced on the character, by formal statements, and 
abstract discussions, of truth, is feeble and trifling, 
compared with the influence of the same truth, when 
exhibited and illustrated by a series of definite and 
intelligitle conduct. So obvious is this principle of 
human nature, that it is assumed as an axiom, that 
instruction communicated by example, is far more 
eft'ectual, thp.n that given in the form of precepts 
And if God has undertaken to instruct our apostate 
race, in the knowledge of his perfections, and of 
their duty to him. for the purpose of improving their 
character, and thus promoting their happiness, we 
may be sure that the fjrm in which he has conveyed 
that instruction, is the one best alapted to attain the 
end for which it was communicated, — to produce 
upon the mind the impression desired, and exert a 
real and lasting influence upon the character. What 



372 SERMON. 

then is the method he has adopted? Not merely 
the form of general statements and abstract discus- 
sions, but chiefly that of visible and intelligible 
conduct. He has not only given us^ in his word, 
distinct and accurate statements of the attributes 
which constitute his adorable character; he has also 
presented to our contemplation a most interesting 
series of actions, in which his perfections, as far as 
we are concerned to know them, are fully and per- 
spicuously displayed. He has not only stated the 
requirements of his law, and affirmed its immutabil- 
ity; he has also given us an example of perfect 
conformity to it in the life of the Saviour, and 
shewn us its indispensableness, in exacting from Him, 
when made under it in our behalf, a full equivalent 
for its penalty. He has not only told us what are 
the characteristics of his children; but he has exhib- 
ited them to our inspection in the experience of the 
saints. He has not only pledged his veracity, and 
confirmed the declaration with an oath, that his 
promises shall be fulfilled; he has also shewn us, in 
the history of his people, that his faithfulness never 
fails. And that these exhibitions may not be in vain, 
he has directed us to search the Scriptures daily; — 
frequently and habitually to contemplate the devel- 
opement there made of his character and will; to see 
how He walked, who left us an example that we 
should follov/ his steps; to observe his dealings with 
his chosen, that we may learn to trust in his mercy, 
and be followers of those who, through faith and 
patience, have inherited the promises. 

A beloved member of this church has, we believe, 
recently entered upon that glorious inheritance, 
whose life and character strikingly illustrated the 
truth and efficacy of our holy religion; whose w^orth 
was so great, and so universally acknowledged, that 
an Cichibition of her character, for the purpose of 
communicating important instruction, may, safely, 
be made; whose death is deeply and universally la- 



SERMON. 373 

mented, and should, for that reason, as well as on 
account of the relation she sustained to this con- 
gregation, be carefully improved. 

This, I have thought, would be most effectually 
done, by employing her history for the exhibition of 
the truth and efficacy of those dc-c-rines which she 
so ardtntly loved, and so highly adorned. In de- 
termJnmg what particular truth is most strikingly 
exhibited in her experince, I may have erred. If I 
have, it is to be attributed to a mistake of judgment, 
not to the want of opportunity to know her history 
and character. For three years, I have been favoured 
vvith her intimate acquamtance, in circumstances 
peculiarly calculated to test and exhibit her charac- 
ter. During the whole of this period, I have enjoyed, 
I have reason to believe, her entire confidence, not 
only as her pastor, but as her friend. I have had a 
most intmiate knowledge of her consolations and 
trials, her sorrows and joys; and, through her kind- 
ness and confidence, I have been furnished with the 
best means of learning v/hat were the dealings of 
God with her, and what the effect of those dealings 
upon her, previously to our personal acquaintance.^ 

The truth vvhich her historv most strikinolv illus- 

■J _ C? ./ 

trates is, if I mistake not, the precious and consol- 
ing one asserted in our text, all things work to- 
gether FOR good to them THAT LOVE GOD. 

That the character here spoken of v/as her's, 
those who hear me, and to whom she was so well 
known, will not question. If those w^ho love God 
can, in any instances, be known by us, I hesitate 
not to say, that our departed friend w^as of that 
happy number. 

* Her journal and other private writings, which she committed to me 
in trust for her children. It may be proper to add . that from the conver- 
sation had with her at the time alluded to, I am satisfied tiiat an ex- 
pectation that aay of her writings would be published after her death 
had never entered her mind. 

32 



473 



SERMON. 



She was deeply impressed with her obligations to 
her Maker and Redeemer, with the sinfulness of her 
heart, and her need of an interest in the merits and 
grace of her Saviour, when in her sixth year. These 
impressions were renewed when she was about ten 
years of age. The latter of these was regarded by 
herself, as the time of her translation from the 
power of darkness into the kingdom of God's dear 
Son. 

The event has shewn that she was designed by 
her Creator for great usefulness on earth, and — we 
think we are warranted in adding — for an exalted 
station in heaven. To fit her for this, was, of course, 
most effectually to promote her highest good. 

For this purpose the Author of her being, in the 
first place, conferred upon her every requisite nat- 
ural endowment. Her talents were of a high order; 
her disposition ardent and aspiring, but, at the same 
time, amiable and attractive. And she was, through 
life, favoured with the means and opportunities for 
mental cultivation, and was always disposed dili- 
gently to improve them. But intellectual endow- 
ments, and natural accomplishments, were not all 
that were necessary to fit her for fulfilling the de- 
signs of Jehovah concerning her. Those powers 
and accomplishments must be sanctified, and that in 
a high degree. For this purpose, he not only early 
took possession of her heart by his Holy Spirit, he 
also led her through a course of discipline, eminently 
calculated to correct the few faults in her character, 
and produce an unusual deadness to the world, deep 
humility, and strong confidence in God, with un- 
common devotedness to his service and the promo- 
tion of his glory. 

In the early part of her Christian course, she had 
much and a very high degree of religious joy; felt as 
if she could do any thing, yea, even die, for Christ; 
had the most delightful anticipations of heaven, and 
would sit for hours meditating, almost in a state of 



SERMON. 375 



ecstacy, upon the vanity of the world, the frailty of 
life, and the happiness in reserve for the righteous.^ 
But, like most converts who have not yet been called 
to the trial of their faith, she knew little of her own 
heart. There was in it, as she afterwards discovered, 
much depravity, — much of self-confidence, and of 
a spirit which, when her circumstances favoured 
such an exhibition of it, would assume the form of 
pride; she would, if left to herself, do little, yea, 
nothing for Christ. To prepare her for what God 
had designed her, it was necessary that these defi- 
ciencies and mistakes should be discovered to her, 
and corrected; — that her pride should be subdued, 
and her self-confidence destroyed; that she should 
be eflectually taught that she was nothing, and that 
Christ was all in all. !f we shall find that the deal- 
ings of God with her were eminently calculated to 
produce, and did actually produce, this result, it will 
be evident that his dispensations towards her were 
for her good. 

Before distinctly noticing these dispensations, it 
is requisite to state, that she had, naturally, a most 
tender sensibility; which, while it made her, as al- 
ready intimated, ardent in her attachments and in 
her desires to do good, also produced a proneness 
to forbode evil where none was impending, to mag- 
nify and shrink from difficulties that actually existed, 
and caused hertosuffermostintensely under affliction. 
If any are disposed to call this a weakness, let them 
know, that it was this very trait in her natural char- 
acter that gave it its principal loveliness, and laid 
the foundation for those exalted religious attain- 
ments, by which she was so distinguished. 

Let us now contemplate the means which God 
employed for the purpose of teaching her those les- 
sons which, we have seen, she needed to learn, to 
fit her for the accomplishment of his Gracious pur- 
poses concerning her. 

* Journal,- 1814, April 24. 



376 SERMON 



1. He placed her, when quite young^ and inex- 
perienced, in a most responsible and difficult sta- 
tion^ where her character and conduct would be 
scrutinized by multitudes, where hundreds of her 
own sex would be looking to her example as a model 
for their imitation, and where her talents would cause 
it to be expected of her to take the lead in most of 
the efforts made by females for extending the Redeem- 
er's kingdom; — a task far more difficult then than now, 
because general efforts of benevolence by females had 
but recently commenced, not a few were disposed to 
consider all such efforts on their part wholly im- 
proper, and it w^as yet to be determined what kind 
and degree of exertions were consistent wdth pro- 
priety. He gave her a strong desire to be useful, 
eminently useful, in the station he had assigned her; 
— a desire to live in such a manner as to convince 
her family, and all w^ith whom she had intercourse, 
that the glory of God was her ultimate aim in all that 
she did, and the enjoyment of him her most ardent 
aspiration, her unremitted pursuit, her unspeakable 
comfort, — to prepare her children for doing good on 
earth, and inheriting the kingdom of heaven, — to be 
the means of advancing her fellow Christians in holi- 
ness, and of recommending religion, by her example 
and conversation, to the impenitent, — to employ, in 
the most discreet and effectual manner, her talents 
and opportunities for contributing to the extension of 
the kingdom of Christ. But when she contemplated, 
and w^as about to enter upon, the actual performance 
of these duties, she was frequently so impressed with 
their magnitude, and the difficulty of discharging 
them, as almost to sink in despondency. Thus she 
was effectually taught her own w^eakness, her entire 
impotency; made sensible that in Christ alone she 
could obtain strength equal to her day; and led to 
apply to him, for grace to help in her times of need, 
in that spirit of humility and entire dependance w^hich 

* Nineteen, 






SERMON. 377 

always obtains the blessing it seeks. And, as a nat- 
ural consequence of this discipline, she became more 
and more distrustful of herself, and attained, continu- 
ally, higher views of that faith which, when in steady 
and vigourous exercise, will carry us through every 
duty and every trial. So that she could say, that she 
had learned, from her own experience, that 'God vdll 
require nothing of us which, if we will look to him, he 
will not give us grace to perform.' 

2. But this was not the only discipline her heav- 
enly Father employed in fitting her for the high 
destination for which he intended her. He also re- 
peatedly and severely afflicted her, 

I have already had occasion to remark, that her 
attachments w^ere uncommonly strong. She loved 
her friends with tenderness and ardour. To promote 
their interests and enjoy their society, contributed, in 
an unusual degree, to her happiness. The loss of them 
would, therefore, be eminently calculated to teach 
her the vanity of earthly good, the utter impossibility 
of finding, in herself, or in any creature, a source of 
permanent enjoyment, and to cause her to give her 
heart entirely to God, to take Christ and the inherit- 
ance he has provided for his people as her supreme, 
her only portion; and thus to contribute to her ad- 
vancement in holiness. Few persons have, in the 
short period to w\hich her life was extended, been 
called more frequently to mourn the death of friends, 
or to suifer bereavements more afflicting than hers. 
Though not thirty-three years of age when herself re- 
moved from this state of trial, most of her connexions 
and early intimate acquaintances had been taken be- 
fore her. And now mark the illustration furnished 
by her history of the truth asserted in our text, in con- 
nexion with that other precious assurance given to the 
people of God, that '*as their days, so shall their 
strength be." In the early part of the year 1814, she 
was led, in consequence of an indisposition, which 
seemed to threaten the disease that ultimatelv caused 



SERMON. 



her death, to resolve "to set apart, from that time, a 
short portion of every day for special prayer for divine 
aid in every season of affliction, and especially for 
strength to conquer her last enemy, death." A reso- 
lution, v\hich^ it is believed, she kept, as far as cir- 
cumstances would admit, to the close of life; and 
which, she was not led to adopt and observe in vain. 
In a little time her series of bereavements commenc- 
ed. This resolution was adopted in May. In the 
following July she was called to mourn the death of 
her father; and in December 1817, of her mother. 
In September 1819, she was written widow, and her 
prospects in life entirely changed. In the fall of 
1821, two of her children were removed by death; one 
of whom, from the name he bore, and the circum- 
stances of his birth, was peculiarly dear to her. And 
these are but a part of her bereavments, during the 
period in which they occurred. In all these afflictions, 
her suffering was intense; in their immediate pros- 
pect, she felt as if her feeble frame could not sustain 
them; w^hen they came, her heart bled at every pore. 
In the death of her excellent husband, all who hear 
me know, she incurred no common loss; she felt as 
if every fountain of earthly happiness was exhaust- 
ed. Her youngest child, — "the last bud of her 
earthly hopes, the fair blossom which sprung up from 
the root of her former prosperity,"^ to excite expec- 
tations of enjoyment in nourishing its grovrth and 
seeing its fruit, and then wither and die, — was taken 
from her, with scarce a moment's warning. The 
shock was almost overwhelming: her suffering great- 
er than any which, in similar circumstances, I ever 
witnessed. But her merciful Father, when he had 
thus taught her that her strength was weakness, uni- 
formly appeared for her support and consolation; 
gave her such views of the rectitude and goodness 
of his proceedings, such manifestations of the fulness 
and preciousness of Christ, such undoubted tokens of 

^Journal 1821, Sept. 1. 



SERMON. 379 

his favour, and such sweet experience of the joys of 
communion with him, that she soon became com- 
posed and tranquil, sugtamed her trials with a forti- 
tude which all who saw her admired, and learned 
that even the most innocent and virtuous earthly 
enjoyments are vanity, and God the only portion 
that can satisfy the soul. 

Such were the means which God employed, to fit 
her for the accomplishment of his gracious purposes 
concerning her. Let us now contemplate their effect 
upon her character. The influence which we have 
seen they were calculated to exert, and did, at the 
time, actually exert, w as not a transient, but a per- 
manent one. She ascertained the weaknesses and 
deficiencies of her natural character, and her beset- 
ting sins, and learned how to resist and subdue the 
one, and correct the other. And so complete was 
her success, that few, if any, of her later acciuaint- 
ances would have suspected, had she not left us a 
record of the fact, that she had any such conflicts to 
sustain. She acquired a permanent and unusually 
deep sense of the depravity and deceitfiilness of the 
human heart, and of the vileness and hatefulness of 
sin, in every form and degree, in the heart as well as 
in the life. She obtained an extensive and accurate 
knowledge of the insidious influence of the corrupt 
propensities of our nature, and of the means by 
which they are to be detected, and resisted, and over- 
come; and thus became eminently qualified to guide 
those who were inquiring the way of life, and those 
who had entered upon the path of the just, and to 
comfort those who were mourning in Zion. She was 
made deeply sensible of her utter destitution of every 
goocf thing, and led to apply habitually to Christ, 
"as an empty sinner to a full Saviour;"^ so that, al- 
though, in view of the multiform duties of life, she 
often exclaimed, "How am I sufficient for these 
things," she could add, "Yet I do trust that I shall 

* Journal 1313, Dec. 5. 



SSO SERMON. 

be enabled to do all things through Christ strength- 
ening me."^ She was induced to strive to keep 
constantly near to God; for experience had taught 
her, that when she "felt entirely sundered from earth- 
ly hope and happiness, and looked to God as her 
only portion, she found his arm strong, his grace suf- 
ficient, his presence precious, his promises sure; she 
was happy in his will here, and looked forward to be 
happy in his love and presence forever.^'f This ex- 
perience of the happiness of communion with God, 
united with her sense of duty to strive to be perfect 
as her Father in heaven is perfect, produced an ar- 
dent desire, and most strenuous effort s, to grow in 
grace, to attain greater, yea, complete, conformity 
to the divine likeness. Often did her ''spirit faint 
with desires to keep under the body of sin, her heart 
pant to be near and like her God."f ''Life she con- 
sidered principally desirable as a medium of glori- 
fying God. To live to the flesh, even if there were 
no difference to be made between the righteous and 
the wicked at death, seemed to her undesirable. 
Those blessed words, to be holy, frequently kindled 
desires in her soul inexpressibly more elevated and 
ardent, and produced joys more delightful and 
transporting, than all the combined allurements of 
the world. "§ Thus she attained an uncommon de- 
gree of superiority to the world; carried with her, 
into every circle a spirit of elevated piety, an ardent 
desire to honour her Saviour, and promote the spir- 
itual interests of men. She discharged every duty 
of life in the fear of God, and with a fidelity seldom 
equalled. She became an example of Christian 
excellence and usefulness, which all admired, and 
her fellow disciples regarded as a model Vvorthy of 
their careful imitation. She exhibited the power 

* Journal 1814, April 24. 
t Journal 1820, Jan. 14. 
:|: Journal 1815, April 27. 
§ Journal 1813, Nov. 17. 



SERMON. 



381 



and preciousness of the principles she loved, even 
unto the end; and, we trust, ascended in triumph, 
to the mansion prepared for her in the skies. 

Such, through grace, were the effects of the di- 
vine dispensations toward her. Who then can doubt, 
that they were all ordered in mercy, and made to 
work together for her good? She now^ certainly re- 
gards them in this light. She did thus regard them 
vvhen she, as yet, knew their design and influence 
but in part. ''Hov/ good w as God," she w^ould say in 
reference to her trials, '-thus to embitter my earthly 
cistern, that I might not sit and sip to my everlast- 
ing regret and destruction."^ "My path has been 
rough; but I have not had one trial which my heav- 
enly Father could, in faithfulness, have spared me. 
He has dealt with me only in loving-kindness and 
tender mercy. I have not a doubt now, I shall see 
hereafter, that all his dealings with me have been 
for my good."f — Verily, all things do work 

TOGETHER FOR GOOD TO THEM THAT LOVE GOD. 

1 . The first reflection suggested by the view w^e 
have taken, applies especially to those in this assem- 
bly who know nothing, by experience, of the con- 
solations of piety. It is this. How^ precious, how in- 
valuable, the possession of those consolations, even 
in the present life! The world in which we live, is a 
world of disappointment and trial. None of our race 
are entirely exempt from affliction. "Man is born 
unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward." Is it not a 
privilege, an invaluable blessing, to carry with us, 
while passing through this world of sorrow, the as- 
surance that our affiictions. as well as our mercies, 
sh^n all be made to work together for our good.^ 
What happiness, that deserves the m^me, can there 
be in such a world, without the consolations and the 

* Journal 1812, Aug. 11. 

t The gubstance of a remark made during her last sickness. 



382 SERMON. 

hopes of piety? ^'I often wonder," said she, on a 
certain occasion, whose voice this day addresses us 
from the tomb, ••! often wonder, when I look at 
people who have no religion, v, hat can be their sup- 
port through the wilderness of this world. I am 
almost at a loss to account for their apparent happi- 
ness. How, for instance, can affliction be tolerable, 
except as the soul is enabled to repose, w^ith some 
confidence, upon the wisdom and equity of the divine 
administration: How ca.n comforts be relished, when 
we know that they may all be taken from us within 
one short hour? What can reconcile the mind, to its 
complicated vexations and trials, which places its 
supreme hopes of happiness upon the changing 
things of this world] And as to motives of living, 
take away the primary one of the Christian, — the de- 
sire to glorify God and be useful to men, and I hardly 
know what one could wish to live for in such a world. 
Vv hen I see a person of keen sensibilities and lively 
affections, drooping under the weight of sorrow re- 
sulting from the unfeeling conduct of those about 
him, or from any of tiiose incidents in providence so 
overwhelming to the generous heart, I exclaim to 
myself, Ah! how that man needs religion! That would 
set a film stepping-place upon the stormy surge; and 
with such a foundation, he could not be moved. It 
is the hope of heaven and its concomitants alone, 
that can turn this valley of tears into an abode of 
peace, and hope, and joy. The pleasures of relig- 
ion are unmingled pleasures. Here no dash of bitter 
offends the taste, no alloy, no corroding mixture, 
mars the enjoyment. How do earthly comforts 
dwindle: yes, they are indeed lighter than air, more 
frail than bubbles, compared with that peace, passing 
understanding, which is shed abroad in the heart by 
the Holy Ghost. ''"^ — This testimony, my friends, I 
know you feel to be worthy of your regard; for you 
respected the piety, you loved the worth, of its 

^ Journal 1815, June 29: and 1814; June 10. 



SERMON 



383 



author. Let it be remembered, and so improved, 
that, when you meet her at the judgment-seat, she 
may find it was not given ni vain. 

2. Let those who have a good hope that they are 
interested in the Divine promises learn, in v/hatso- 
ever state they are. therewith to be content. The 
terms of that Covenant, my Christian brethren, in 
which you trust, and which you know is ordered in 
all things and sure, render it certain, that, whatever 
be the dispensations of providence tovv^ard you, they 
are the fruit of your heavenly Father's love, — ^just 
what He, who knows all your necessities, and vvhat 
will be the influence of his dealings with you, sees to 
be, at the time, most conducive to your happiness, 
as well as to his own glory. And can you not con- 
fide in his wisdom, and goodness, and fidelity? The 
whole history we have been contemplating tesiifies 
the safety and happiness of doing so. The prom- 
inent trait in the piety of our departed friend, was 
confidence in God. She hoped that she had given 
herself to him; and she had no doubt, that, if the 
surrender had been sincere, he vrould do with her, 
in all things, well. She longed and prayed for per- 
fect resignation to the divine will; and, under her 
severest trials, she could say, ''It is a part of God's 
infinitely perfect plan of government. I therefore 
lay my hand upon my mouth and say, 'Thy will be 
done.' " She strongly felt, and often mentioned 
the consoling truth for the encouragement of others, 
that God would carry his people through every duty 
and every trial, if they would only place tlieir con- 
fidence in him. It was her joy and consolation, that 
Jehovah reigns; her delight to commit herself and all 
her interests, to his disposal. To be willing to be, 
to do, and to suffer, just vvhat God pleases, to be sat- 
isfied with all that he does now, and satisfied to have 
him do what shall seem to him good hereafter; — '-this, 
this," she would say '-is happiness; this, I think, is a 
foretaste of heaven." And this was the habitual 



384 SERMON. 

frame of her mind for several months before her 
death^ in this frame, her spirit took its flight to the 
eternal world. If you, my brethren^ would expe- 
rience the consolations by v.hich .she was ciieered, 
while passing through the wilderness of this world, 
if you wish your latter end to be like hers, cultivate 
th? same spirit. Trust in the Lord at all times, 
and you shall never be desolate; you shall be as 
Mount ZioD, which cannot be moved. 

3. That we may derive the greatest benefit from 
the dispensations of providence, let us imitate the 
example of our lamented sister in using the means 
of rightly improving them. 

For this purpose, she was diligent in her endeav- 
ours to cultivate personal piety. She daily studied 
with care the Holy Scriptures, and devoted a part of 
her time to religious meditation. A portion of every 
day^ commonly in the early part of it, she spent in 
secret prayer. It was on the altar of secret devotion, 
that she kindled that pure flame, which was general- 
ly seen burning so brightly, when she was engaged 
in the active duties of life. She frequently examined 
herself, not merely for the purpose of ascertaining 
whether she might hope that she was a child of God, 
but also, whether she had made any progress in 
the divine life. At the close of every day, her con- 
duct, and the temper of heart she had maintained, 
were reviewed; the evening preceding the Sabbath 
v/as specially devoted to this important duty. If at 
any time she found she had declined in her Christian 
course, or any trial was apprehended, or any duty of 
peculiar difhculty to be performed, she observed a 
season of private fasting and prayer. She loved the 
sanctuary and its solemn services, and was careful to 
have her mind in a devotional frame while attending 
upon them, reflecting as she entered, and cherishing 
the impression while she remained within, the sacred 
edifice, that she might never enter it again. She 
viewed attendance upon the holy communion as a 



SEKMON. obO 

most important and solemn service, and was always 
careful to prepare herself for it, by self-examination, 
reflection and prayer. She endeavoured to trace, 
in every event, the hand of God, and to derive from 
every occurrence some spiritual instruction. 

Her religion, however, was not confined to her 
closet, and to the sanctuary. She endeavoured to 
carry it wuth her into all the business and cncum- 
stances of life. She did not, like some professed 
believers in the doctrines of grace, feel, that be- 
cause she was to be saved by the merits of Christ 
alone, there was no necessity of being careful to 
maintain good works. So far from finding this to be 
the influence of those doctrines, which she firmly 
believed and ardently loved, she has left it in testi- 
mony as the result of her experience, that ^w^hen her 
hope of acceptance solely on the ground cf the mer- 
its of Christ was the strongest, she felt most un- 
quenchable desires to serve him with her heart, her 
whole heart. '^ To glorify God and do good to men 
was her habitual aim. The duties of her family she 
endeavoured to discharge w^ith fidelity, from a regard 
to the w^ill of Jehovah, who, by placing her in that 
relation, had required them at her hands. The in- 
tercourse of friendship she sought to make of a prof- 
itable character, remembering that for our words, as 
well as for our actions, we must give account at the 
judgment-seat of Christ. She was ever ready to 
visit and comfort the afflicted, to instruct the ignor- 
ant, to warn the careless, to entreat the impenitent 
to be reconciled to God. She prayed much, and de- 
lighted to employ her counsels and efforts, for the 
extension of the Redeemer's kingdom. In the work 
of benevolence she has left her sex a noble example. 
Her exertions in this cause, are known to have been 
great, and extended to a variety of objects, and pro- 
ductive of a large amount of good; yet they never 

* Journal, 1820; June 9. 

33 



386 



SERMON 



produced in her any neglect of domestic duties, or 
any transgression of the bounds of strict propriety. 
Daughters of Zion, let it be your ambition to follow 
in the glorious path she trod. Believers in Christ, 
make your religion your governing principle, the 
business of your lives; and, when your career on 
earth is about to terminate, you may say, with her, 
*'My Father hath done all things well, he hath made 
all things to work together for my good." 



^(©m^m^* 



WRITTEN AFTER READING BUCHANAN'S CHRISTIAN 
RESEARCHES, IN 1813. 

When I on fancy's pinion ride. 
Far o'er the ocean's rolling tide. 

To India's burning shore, 
Where the chain'd soul in thraldom sleeps, 
And Satan his dark empire keeps. 
My eye a pitying torrent weeps 

Of grief unfelt before. 

There, whelm'd in superstition's night. 
Unknown the Gospel's cheering light. 

The fetter'd spirit lies; 
'Left to dim Nature's twinkling ray, 
Which can but feeble light convey. 
It sinks, to doubt and sin a prey, 

Nor longs, nor seeks, to rise. 

Yet reason there^ a Sovereign owns. 
But, stupid, bows to stocks and stones; 

(A path she's ever trod.) 
Reason reduc'd, can never climb 
To truths so glorious, so divine, 
As in the sacred Gospel shine. 

Without the aid of God. 

And say, oh Christian! can you view 
The wrevched Heathen's guilt and woe, 

Nor drop one nitying tear? 
Think — that, though sunk in sin and shame, 
On you the Indian has a claim; 
He bears a broth€r''s sacred name: 

Behold him! comfort, cheer. 



388 



POETRY. 

Yes, let the GospePs giadd'ning voice 
His realm illume, retorm, rejoice. 

Go, tell him Jesus reigns: 
Bid him forsake his impious rites; 
Tell him that God his love invites; 
Tell him in mercy He delights, 

And waits to break his chains. 

And think, how high your joy will rise,, 
When, thron'd in bliss above the skits, 

You UR^et the ransom 'd throng. 
And see, wit)^ song of holiest fire. 
The Indian foremost in the choir! 
How will it raise your rapture ivigli'r. 

And swell your joyous songf 



THE SABBATH. WRITTEN IN 1&14, 

Another holy day of rest returns; 

The curtain gently falls, and sober eve 

Ushers, with modest step, the Sabbath in.* 

Sweet day! I bid thee welcome. Now, from noise. 

And all the jarring tumults of the world. 

My wearied soul retires, and rests herself; 

And seeks, in contemplation, heavenly food 

To renovate the pow'rs which six days' toil 

Has made obtuse and languid^ Glad I call 

My roving spirit homeward, and refresh^ 

In holy intercourse with heaven, its dull 

And scatter'd faculties. How far the world 

And all its empty forms of bliss retire: 

I hear its noisy clamour from afar. 

And feel compassion's unavailing tear 

W rung from my lieart at thought of its illusions^ 

'Tis sweet to lay aside the spirit's shackles, 
And, for a wdiile, rise upward in the view 
Of God and his perfections. Here is room 
For thought to stretch and widen, till the tlieme. 
Immense, and still enlarging as pursu'd, 
O'erwhelms the soul, and makes it pant for heav'n. 

How awful bright each rival glory shines 
Of different attributes, harmonious! 
Here I behold meek Mercy's angel form. 
Here Justice lifts her awful head, and holds, 
With equal hand, her everlasting scales; 

* It V as tlie liabit of the writer, to commence the appropriate duiifc'S of ili«; 
Sabbaili, at early candle-lighting on Satuiday evening. 



POETRY. 

Points to the law of love which angels own, 

Owning, obey, and in obeying, find 

Their life, their blessedness, their heaven; and swears 

That man transgressing it must die, or blot 

The eternal page of Ttnith immutable. 

Now bursts, as day's refulgent orb appears 
To the strain'd eye which long has watch'd the dawn, 
Resplendent, passing admiration, on the view, 
The mighty plan which heav'n's eternal King 
Concerted "with his equal Son, ere earth 
Was form'd, or man was made, or lost, 
To snatch a sinking world from righteous ruin, 
Yet vindicate the law which seal'd its doom. 
A plan omnipotent, whose vast design 
Draws in its wond'rous compass, all which man 
Can need, though lost, and all which God requires; 
And, sweetly blending, harmonizing all, 
O'erpowers, and mingles in its migiity rays, 
The congregated glories of the whole. 

Dear day of rest and meditation sweet! 
Ne'er may'st thou find my heart so treach'rous grown. 
As to prefer the worldling's day to thee; 
But may each weekly visit fimd my soul 
More raised above earth's gilded vanities. 
Till the last Sabbath of the waiting saint, 
The endless rest which Christ has promis'd, come! 



398 



WRITTEN IN MAY 1820, AFTER THE l^EATH OF HER HUSBAN'D. 

Smile, Nature smile; the tearful eye 
Of WIDOWHOOD thvou need'st not wear: 

Winter, thy sullen foe's gone by; 

Fresh bound thy streams, soft glows thine air. 

Weep'st thou, to lift thy youthful brow 
And smile, while aches this bleeding heart? 

Oh, I have lov'd, and love thee now, 
Changed Nature as to me thou art. 

Yes- thou may-st smile, and not, for me, 
Enshroud tiiy virgin charms in gloom. 

And veil thy face in symp.ithy 

With shade and sadness of the tomb. 

I'here was — , and Jow tiuit form is laid. 
And still that bue; un's conscious glow, 

* Published in the Boston Recorder of June 10th, 1820. 



390 



POETRY. 

And deep the sleep, and dense the shade^ 
And hush'd the hfe-blood's vital flow. 

He lov'd thee too: and he is gone; 

From this fond heart so early riv'n^ 
And now, thou see'st me all alone, 

To weep, and trace my way to heav'n. 

Abroad, upon thy modest face. 

Meek nature, earliest love of mine, 

I fix my sad and silent gaze. 
And mourn that alter'd look of thine. 

For not in all thy deserts wide,— 
In blooming vale, or mountain gray. 

Or stormy ocean's troubled tide. 
In earth, or air, or sky, or sea, — 

Meets me the friend I lov'd so well. 
And ne'er shall meet on mortal shore: 

And long this bosom's anguish 'd swell 
Shall speak — that we shall meet no more. 

Yet, there's a land, which ne'er was trod 

By mortal foot: and there is he. 
Nature! there dwells thy Maker, God; 

And there, that friend these eyes shall see. 

And soon, life's journey measur'd o'er, 
And death's dividing torrent pass'd. 

My soul shall reach that holy shore, 
Tivat quiet, peaceful home, at last. 

Theti death shall ne'er our spirits sever, 

But v/e shall meet, nor part forever. 



TO HER INFANT SON, BORN AFTER HIS FATHER'S DEATH. 
WRITTEN IN 1820. 

Sleep on, sleep on, thou little stranger, 

Ere thy birth an orphan made, 
Usher'd into life and danger 

'Neath affliction's deepest shade. 

A father's eye sball never meet thee 

With affection's kindly glow, 
A father's welcome ne'er shall greet thee, 

Baby, in this world of woe. 



391 



POETRY. 

Death, that parent, friend, did sever 
From this widow'd heart of mine; 

Quench'd that eye's fond glance forever. 
Ere this little life was thine. 

Often now the burning tear 

Fi^m thy mother's eye is streammg, 
As she bends, 'twixt joy and fear, 
O'er thy infant form so dear; 

Thine, the while, serenely beammg, 
'Why the tear that dims thine eye, 
'Ah, my mother, tell me, why?' 

Not because high heav'n did pour 
On me alone that storm of sorrow; 

And not because time's fleeting wing 

Shall never, on its pinions, bring 
To me the long deferr'd tomorrow 

Which shall that friend again restore. 



But a dang'rous sea thou'rt crossing; 

He, thy guide, to heav'n has gone; 
Storms that ocean deep are tossing; — 

Baby, thou art all alone. 
And, oh! what evils may betide thee? 

Treach'rous rocks, and shoals, and snares; 
No father's watchful eye to guide thee! 

""Tis this that wakes thy mother's tears. 



The following lines were added after the death of -this <Jhild, in 1821. 

'Tis over; past, forever past, that sea 

Of tempest, snare and storm, so late my dread. 

No more I view thee, darling boy, exposal 

Unfriended, on that frowning deep, where late 

Thy slender little bark first tried its skill. 

The angry wave on thee shall beat again 

Its foaming billow, never. Nor rock, nor shoal. 

Nor whirlpool's fatal eddy, nor the ills 

Innumerable which my fancy painted. 

Shall ever harm thee more. Safe art thou lodg'd 

Beyond the reach of all I felt or fear'd. 

Oh! how I fear'd for thee! how truant thought. 

Presumptuous, unbelieving as I was, 

Would =K^ * * * * * 



I 



392 POETRY. 



OX THE DEATH OF AN INFANT SON. WRITTEN IN NOV. 1821.* 

Ah! vvhere is he, with the eyes so blue. 

And Ihe ^3hinmg yeliovv hair, 
And the lofty brow, stil) serenely mild. 

And the cheek so angel fair? 
Oh, spirit lov'd! who, like vision of light, 
Stole a<*TOss my path, in that fearful night. 
When the storm was high, and thy sire far away. 
And smil'd tm ough the darkness,— how short was thy stay? 
Like fleeting cloud, that by tempest is driven 

x\thwart the stormy sky. 
Or dev/-dvop that's wept, at close of even, 

From nature's humid eye. 
That cheek "Zi^tzs fair; but 'tis deadly pale, 

The last living tint has fled; 
And the cherish'd form, on this bosom that slept. 

In the dam.p tomb rests its head. 
Soon was finish 'd thine errand to this distant shore, 
And thy mission of love, dearest babe, soon was o'er. 
In my soul's saddest hour (i distress wert thou given. 
To assuage the deep anguish, then vanish to heaven. 
Though oblivion's dews settle fast on thee, now; 

There's one heart shall forget thee, never; 
And the stroke that shall end all my sorrows below. 

Shall unite us again forever. 

* Published in the Boston Recoider of Dec. 8, 18£i. 



THE END. 



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